


I Believe in You and Me

by serenadreams



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bones parallel, Buried Alive, Camping trips, Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, Jealousy, Post 2x23, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Scare, Romance, Roommates, Team Bonding, double dates, prompt fills, protective!oliver
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 32,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenadreams/pseuds/serenadreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Olicity prompt fills, drabbles, oneshots... all that sort of stuff.</p><p>#37 - Military au</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. without her it's not the same

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't done prompts since my Delena days, but they're helping with my inspiration/motivation problem. So if you feel like it... You can drop prompts, ideas, random thoughts, whatever you want, into my inbox here: serenasnotebook.tumblr.com/ask
> 
> I don't bite! :P
> 
>  
> 
> (I still don't own Arrow. Or any of these characters. Or a car. Or anything really... Except a cat. I do own a cat.)

  _ **[devouringfoodandstuff](http://devouringfoodandstuff.tumblr.com/) asked: Prompt: writing about the after mass of the last episode and how it really **_ _ **affect felicity and she starts pulling away from everything.**_  

  

* * *

It’s so subtle, he almost doesn’t notice it at first. In fact, if he wasn’t so in tune with everything Felicity did, he probably would never have noticed at all. But he did, and once he had, it was all he could see.

 

It wasn’t anything big, nothing drastic or life changing, but he felt the difference.

She didn’t touch him anymore. That was his first clue. Not that she’d really touched him much in the past, other than her rare, spontaneous hugs, usually just born out of concern for his well being. He’d generally been the one to initiate physical contact between them, which was another thing he hadn’t realized until recently.  It's hard not to notice though, when she flinches every time he goes to squeeze her shoulder, steps subtly away when his hand gravitates to the small of her back.

She leans away from him where she used to lean in, her eyes drop to the floor where they used to stare his down.

She doesn’t hug him anymore. He shouldn’t miss that as much as he does.

 

There are other things too. The way she avoids any emotional moments between them, cringes away from situations where she might have to hear, or say, anything meaningful, expressive of their feelings towards the other. Whatever they might be.

 

She’s still the voice in his ear. She still rushes to his side when he returns to the foundry covered in bruises, still insists on carefully bandaging him up even when he resists. She still supports him in every decision he makes, still makes sure he knows that she’s there, she’s beside him and she’s not going anywhere.

But there’s something missing. She’s holding herself back, ever so slightly, ever so gently, withdrawing from him. And it hurts a lot more than he ever imagined it could. He’s not sure how it’s possible that he misses her when she’s right in front of him. But somehow he does.

 

She doesn’t ramble as much anymore. Accidentally expressing her affection, inadvertently propositioning him, blushing prettily and laughing, as his lips twitch up, unable to resist her charm.

She stops herself, swallows her words, closes her eyes, shakes her head, turns away.

And the worst part is, he doesn’t know  _why_. And if he doesn’t know why, how’s he supposed to fix it?

 

It all comes to a head at three in the morning on a Thursday night. He gets hurt worse than usual. Well, usual is a pretty loose term when it comes to him, but there’s a second when he wonders if he’ll make it back home, if he’ll ever see her again. He doesn’t even consider why she’s the thought that lingers in his brain in that moment, he’s too used to her being the light that draws him out in his moments of darkness to be surprised by it anymore.

 

He stumbles down the foundry stairs with Dig at his side, supporting more of his weight than he cares to admit. She’s waiting for them at the bottom with tears staining her pretty cheeks, having heard the whole ordeal over the comms.

She doesn’t say a word as she helps Dig patch him up. Her delicate little hands tremble against his skin as they press bandages down, and he wishes he could reach out and fold them in his. Press them to his lips and kiss her shaky fingers until she forgets to be scared, forgets to be sad. But he can’t, because she won’t let him, she’ll pull away, wipe her eyes, put on that mask she’s been wearing around him lately.

 

Diggle heads home after he’s ensured that Oliver isn’t going to be dropping dead in the next twenty-four hours, and it’s not until he’s left alone with her, that he realizes he’s had enough.

 

He’s tired, he’s stressed, he nearly died, and he really, really wants her to come and sit next to him. A little too close to be strictly friendly, to touch his arm, or his jaw, the bruises that decorate his side, to smile in that soft way she used to and tell him how glad she is that he’s okay, that he came back to her. He wants her to say that she can’t lose him, to make him promise to be more careful, to insist on driving him home and spend the entire journey reminding him to change his bandages properly and not rip his stitches.

 

But she’s already pulled away. She’s already dried her eyes, buried herself in her computers, headphones in, complicated strings of code dancing across the screen.

 

He approaches her slowly, not sure what he’s going to say, not even really sure what he’s  _trying_  to say. But absolutely sure that he has to say something. Because this distance that’s somehow grown between them is killing him. And he knows he needs to be the one to bridge the gap.

 

He ignores the flicker of hurt he feels as she flinches away when he gently touches her shoulder. He misses the days when she’d lean into his touch.

 

“Felicity.”

 

She raises her eyebrows and plucks out her headphones, twisting them between her fingers as she looks up at him.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Are you?” He returns, watching as her brows draw together in confusion.

 

“Yeah? I’m fine.” She looks at him oddly, but he’s just glad that she’s actually looking at him, that her eyes are holding his for longer than a few seconds.

 

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, counts to three in his head, has an internal debate about what he should say, whether he should say anything at all, crouches down beside her chair, so he’s at her eye level, not towering over her like he usually does.

 

“Did I do something to upset you?” He asks, his voice a little more unsteady than he’d anticipated, his heart beating a little faster than normal as he waits for her answer.

 

She still looks confused, and a little uncomfortable, but he can tell she’s not lying as she shakes her head.

 

“No.”

 

“Then what is it, Felicity? What happened… What changed?” He's done tiptoeing around her, he wants answers, and he's going to get them.

 

Her eyes flutter, and fall away from his, but not before he catches the sparkle of fresh tears gathering.

 

“Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s late, I should go home, I need to feed my cat. Not that I have a cat… Actually that’s a really weird thing to say when you don’t have a cat. I don’t know, it just kind of came out. Anyway, I should go because I’m tired. Not because I have a cat… Which I don’t…” She trails off, looking even more confused than before, and presses a hand to her forehead.

 

It’s the first time he’s heard her ramble in weeks. Recently she’s seemed to second-guess everything she says, visibly thinking it through in her head before speaking it aloud.

 

There’s another thing he didn’t ever imagine he’d miss. But he really, really does.

 

He has to fix this. Whatever it is.

 

“Please. Don’t go, just… Just talk to me. Please.” He’s begging and he doesn’t care. She’s the only thing that makes sense some days, and he needs her more than he’s ever been able to put into words. “Something’s different, and you know it is. So please just tell me what I can do to make it right again, and I’ll do it.”

 

Her eyes still won’t meet his, but he sees the solitary tear that slips down her cheek and his heart clenches in his chest.

 

“There’s nothing you can fix, Oliver. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Her voice is soft and resigned, and he wants to shake her, rattle her head until the answers he’s looking for come tumbling out.

 

“Then what is it?” He raises his voice and she flinches, sighing shakily as she stands, grabbing for her purse and trying to walk past him.

 

He stops her, rising from his position on the floor, he blocks her from escaping, physically intimidating her for the first time since she’d locked the foundry doors on him, way back in the beginning. He’s been careful not to overwhelm her with their size difference since them, never wanting to make her uncomfortable, never wanting her to feel unsafe around him.

But he’s had enough. They’ve been ignoring this for way too long, and now that he’s started it, he wants to finish it, get everything out in the open so they can move forwards.

 

“I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s been going on with you.” He says firmly, sidestepping with her as she tries to walk around him.

 

“Oliver!” She sighs in frustration and tries to pass him again, growling in an entirely too cute way when he blocks her move. She slaps her hands to his chest and pushes him, he’s not sure what she was expecting to achieve, but he takes the opportunity and grabs her hands in his, holding them just hard enough that she can’t pull away, but gentle enough not to hurt her.

 

“Talk to me. Whatever it is, I can deal with it.  _We_  can deal with it.”

 

“Oliver, you don’t want to hear it okay? You think you do, but I promise it’s not going to make anything better, it’ll actually just make everything worse, and it’ll be horribly embarrassing for both of us, and it’s really much better if we just don’t do this, okay?” Her voice is quiet and a little sad. She's still refusing to look at him.

 

“No. Not okay.”

 

She casts her head back in exasperation, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

 

“Fine. You really want to hear it? Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She takes a deep breath and seems to be steeling herself, every muscle in her body is tense, he can practically feel the discomfort coming off her in waves.

 

His heart picks up it's pace once again.

 

“It hurts too much. I can’t…  _we_ can’t be the way we were before, because now it hurts.” She says it so quietly, he can barely hear, tears glazing her tired eyes.

 

She must be able to tell that he hasn’t understood what she means, because she swallows and tries again, squeezing her eyes closed and letting a couple more drops slip down her pale cheeks.

 

“I didn’t realize it until you said it. I mean… I knew there was  _something._ I knew I loved you in the way of, I care about you a lot, I don’t want you to die, I want you to be in my life… All that sort of stuff. But then you said  _it._ And I realized… I mean, I knew it wasn't real or anything but it just... I- I realized then...”

 

She breaks off and his heart is pounding so hard he’s sure she can hear it.   He’s almost vibrating with the need to hear her next words.

 

“I realized then that I was  _in_  love with you. And now… now everything just hurts and I need to keep some distance, for both our sakes. So I’m really sorry that it’s upset you, but as you can probably see now, it’s for the best. And I’m sure you agree that you probably should’ve listened to me before, and not forced me to say that, because things are just going to be really awkward now, which is the last thing I want, but it’s kind of your fault, I was doing fine without saying anything, it was you who insisted and now…”

 

She stops talking with a startled gasp as he pulls her into his chest, one hand raising to her cheek, stroking the warm skin he finds, relishing in the feel of her softness against his roughened knuckles.  And then, he’s pulling her up his body until her toes barely brush the floor, ducking his head, and kissing her.

 

He kisses her because when she rambles he feels like everything’s right in the world, when she smiles his heart skips a beat and he can’t help but smile back, and when she cries he never knows which he wants more, to pick her up and comfort her until everything’s better and she can’t remember why she’s sad, or to run around destroying everything that ever hurt her in the first place.

 

He kisses her because she’s beautiful and she just told him she loves him. He kisses her because he missed her  _so_  much, even when she was right in front of him. He kisses her because she’s his light, his salvation, his beacon of hope.

 

He kisses her because he loves her, and wishes he’d never made her doubt it.

 

 

 

 


	2. the only superhero i wanna see on your panties is me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I’m laughing so hard omg! I have so much superhero themed underwear, it’s a little ridiculous! Also this is complete and utter crack oh my god)

_** anonymous asked: Felicity has a thing for superhero panties. Take what you will ;)  
** _

* * *

 

He notices the running theme pretty early on in their relationship. There’s that silver sports bra she likes, with the shield emblazoned on the front, the black panties with ‘god of thunder’ written across them, the iron man bra… You get the idea.

But it’s not until she starts babbling excitedly about some new movie that she’s apparently been waiting years for, that he finally fits the pieces together. She’s so shocked that he’s never heard of these ‘Avengers’ people, that she sits him down and makes him marathon watch superhero movies with her. That’s when he can finally put faces to the names and symbols he so often comes across on her underwear.

He makes a mental note to ask her about it sometime, and lets himself get drawn into what he has to admit, is a pretty good movie.

 *

“Is there a reason you have so much superhero themed underwear?” He finally asks one morning, holding up her latest purchase, a pair of lacy Spiderman panties.

She blushes and hops out of bed, quickly grabbing the garment out of his hands and shoving it back into a drawer. He’s still watching her with a raised eyebrow when she turns to face him, so she sighs and idly wonders how red her face can get before she no longer resembles a human being.

“It amuses me.” She shrugs. “It’s like an inside joke, people who see my underwear will just think I’m a total geek…” She smirks at the thought before continuing. “Little do they know I’m part of my very own crime fighting team.” She says the last phrase in an overly dramatic voice before giggling and looking up at him to see how he’s taken her explanation.

“People who see your underwear?” He asks, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Who sees your underwear?”

She quickly places a hand on his chest in a placating gesture before hurrying to explain.

“No one! No one like that… Well, I mean I did start wearing them before we were together so…” She breaks off when she sees the look on his face. “Right. I just meant like…  Actually I’m not really sure what I meant. Never mind.”

She changes the subject, and the topic doesn’t come up again until two weeks later. When she opens her underwear draw to find dozens of pairs of custom made Green Arrow panties, in all shades of the rainbow, each with a pair of crossed arrows and the name written across them.

She laughs so hard she has to sit down. But her old superhero underwear doesn’t get much use after that.


	3. don't fade from me darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sonrisaentejas asked: Something similar to one of my fave Bones moments - Oliver is saving Felicity from a life or death situation and calls her "baby" without thinking about it and the repurcussions of that later?
> 
> (Fellow Bones fan here! And that is such an amazing scene, definitely one of my faves too. Thanks for the prompt!)

[ ](http://sonrisaentejas.tumblr.com/)

He’s seen her hurt before, of course he has, with what they do it’s inevitable. But he’s never quite been faced with the very real possibility that she could actually, really die, as much he as he is right now. 

He sees her crumpled form as soon as he enters the room, and everything else fades into the background. She’s lying in a steadily growing pool of red, the pretty blue dress she’d liked so much, stained beyond recognition.

His legs feel numb as he runs towards her and his heart’s beating faster than it does after a round on the salmon ladder.

He’s prepared himself for so many outcomes in his life, he’s thought through so many different scenarios, but he’s never been able to contemplate the idea of her death. It’s so incongruous with everything that she is. Light and happy, warm, kind and innocent, the thought of her vitality being extinguished is unbearable.

He drops to his knees beside her, not caring that her blood is staining his leathers. His fingers fumble clumsily, shakily to find her pulse point, slipping against the blood that’s coating her pale skin.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s been holding his breath until he feels the weak throb beneath his fingers. Unsteady and slow, her heart’s still beating. The wave of relief that rushes through him is dizzying.

He gathers her into his arms, her hair brushing his chin. There’s still a battle raging on nearby, there are still enemies to be taken down, but he doesn’t care. The only thing that matters is her; the soft breaths that tickle his neck, letting him know that she’s still there, the warmth of her pliant body in his arms, the comforting scent of her shampoo.

 

The gentle motion of his walking wakes her and he looks down at her pale face to find her eyes fluttering open, confusion and pain filling her pretty blue orbs.

“Oliver?” Her hand scrabbles to find purchase on his leathers, gripping him in as tight a fist as she can manage, as though trying to anchor herself to something, to him.

He gives her the most reassuring smile he can muster. He’s not sure he manages.

“You’re fine.” He murmurs, telling himself just as much as he is her.

“Hurts.” She squeezes her eyes closed and a couple of stray tears slip down her cheeks. He holds her just a little tighter, dropping his lips to her hair, before he can think through what he’s doing.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He whispers the words against her silky locks, pressing a second, lingering kiss to the crown of her head. “Just hold on, alright? Just stay with me baby, and you’ll be fine.”

She mumbles something incomprehensible, and burrows her face into his jacket.

His chest lurches, at the simple act of her seeking warmth and comfort from him, at the idea that if he doesn’t get her help soon, she might not be okay, at the knowledge that an army could drop down in front of him right now, and he still wouldn’t even consider letting her go.

She has to be okay. There’s no other option. There’s no other outcome of this night that makes any worldly sense. She has to be okay.

 

*

 

She’s stabilized a lot quicker than his heart will be. Even when she’s wide awake and chatting, a little loopy from the painkillers, his chest still feels like a million rubber bands are wrapped around it. He doesn’t think he’s going to forget this night for a very long time, if ever. She came _so close_.

“Oliver?”

He realizes his eyes have been fixed on her chest, remembering in vivid detail, the rivulets of blood that had dripped over his hands as he carried her to safety. He forces his eyes up to meet hers, her pupils dilated and glassy from the pills.

“Did you call me baby?” She sounds surprised and amused, and so _Felicity_ that it’s the most reassuring thing she could’ve ever said to him in that moment.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” He mumbles, his forehead creasing as he remembers the word slipping out against her hair.

She snorts, her nose scrunching up cutely as she laughs. His chest lurches for a whole new set of reasons.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, unable to stop the corner of his mouth lifting in response to her mirth.

“Just the mental image.” She giggles again and shakes her head. “The big bad vigilante, all covered in blood, whispering pet names.”

He cracks a proper smile. Not so much at the image she seems to find so hilarious, but because she’s talking and laughing and happy.

Another night of pain and destruction has passed and it hasn’t managed to snuff out her light.


	4. working man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Felicity singing “Working Man” by Imagine Dragons as they set up the second lair. Digg and Roy start singing it with her and Oliver walks in.
> 
> (This gave me a great excuse to put this song on really loud and have an impromptu dance party of my own! Thanks anon!)

 

_Shake it, shake it_

_And we’re moving again_

_Been a long time coming for the working man_

_So shake it, shake it_

_And we’re moving again_

_When the money is high, we can start to spend_

 

 

Oliver stops just out of sight to watch them, well  _her_ , a smile spreading across his face as she sings into a broom handle.

He’s not sure what surprises him more, seeing his vigilante team having a dance party, complete with some very off key singing, or how naturally and gorgeously Felicity moves to the music.

He always imagined she’d be a bit clumsy and awkward when it came to things like dancing, not that he gave it much thought or anything. But as she shimmies her hips to the chorus, his mouth goes dry. She’s wearing a pair of tight jeans and a tank top which do nothing to hide the beautiful, lithe body beneath.

Roy is singing loudly and dancing around the room in an athletic sort of way, similar to how he fights. Diggle is more static, laughing as he watches the younger team members let loose.

Oliver’s eyes drift back to Felicity, unable to stay away from her for long. Her hair is free of it’s usual ponytail, blonde curls bouncing across her shoulders as she moves. Her eyes sparkle with happiness, her cheeks are flushed, her glasses and shoes have been discarded and he can see the bright pink of her toenails as her feet dance lightly across the floor.

She’s a vision.

He doesn’t join them. He somehow knows that it’s not really something he can be a part of, his presence will only make Roy embarrassed and Felicity self-conscious. But he’s happy to just watch from the sidelines, appreciating the view and thanking the stars that somehow the universe was kind enough to give him these wonderful people as friends.

He makes a mental note to find more opportunities to get Felicity dancing though. That’s something he definitely has to see more of.

 

 


	5. (to be alone with you) feels like home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: It was supposed to be for one night, two max, but it’s been weeks... In which Oliver stays at Felicity’s.

They slip into a domestic routine so easily, that she doesn’t realize how much time has passed until Diggle asks her about it.

It was supposed to just be one night, two at most, partly because he doesn’t currently have anywhere to live, and she suspects partly because he simply doesn’t want to be alone. She can relate. After trying nights of darkness and destruction, it’s nice to go home to someone else. _With_ someone else. Someone who understands, someone who feels the same.

They don’t have to pretend with each other, they can sit on the sofa in compatible silence, Oliver watching a game, Felicity reading, happy to be in their own worlds, _together_. It’s simple and it’s easy, and it’s nice. It’s warm, like home.

So when two weeks pass and he makes no move to leave. She’s glad. The spare room in her small townhouse used to be a mess of boxes and odds and ends she never had time to sort through, but now it’s Oliver’s room. It smells like him, and his clothes hang in the closet. 

She likes the little touches of him that she sees around the house. His shoes by the front door, looking so big next to hers, his coat on the rack, his toothbrush in the mug she keeps by the sink, the way the bathroom always smells of his aftershave every morning when she goes in.

He fixes things too. In a typical guy way. But she appreciates it more than she can tell him. She’s lived alone for so long, and it’s nice to have someone else sharing the responsibility. There’s that window at the back that never locked properly, and the drawer in the kitchen which you had to pry open with a fork because the handle fell off. Sometimes she’ll wake up in the morning and just stumble across a little thing he’s fixed overnight, and it’ll make her smile and prompt her to break her rule, and make enough coffee for two.

He shouldn’t be a good roommate. In theory, she should be really quite concerned. His sleep patterns are erratic, sometimes she wakes to hear him doing push ups at four in the morning. He keeps a knife under his pillow and another one in his bedside table. He triple checks that the door’s locked every night, and sometimes goes as far as checking her bedroom window like she’s a child. All of his quirks should annoy her. But they don’t. 

She sleeps easier at night knowing he’s there. Knowing that she’s probably the safest person in Starling City with him sleeping just next door. And she likes knowing where he is, not in a weird controlling wife kind of way, just in the way that she doesn’t need to worry that he’s burning off his excess adrenaline by running around the city taking on gangs by himself.

And despite all odds, they work well together. They have movie marathons and pizza nights and evenings where they trade embarrassing childhood stories over a bottle of wine.

He doesn’t judge her when he walks into the kitchen to find her dancing around in her pajamas singing along to the radio and attempting to cook something that isn’t cereal. He just laughs and joins her, quickly rescuing whatever food she’s in the process of ruining. He’ll cook while she helps, following his instructions as she belts out Maroon 5 at the top of her voice.

And she knows that some evenings, he needs to be left alone with his thoughts. She doesn’t take it personally when he comes home late, slamming the door and stomping up to his room like a petulant child. She lets him be, until he comes to find her, usually with an unnecessary apology which she brushes off.

Then they order takeout and he listens, with that little smile he has just for her, as she babbles about some new groundbreaking paper someone just published in Wired.

Their little habits and details fit together like puzzle pieces. He prefers to shower in the evening, and she prefers the morning. she likes the raisins that he always picks out of his muesli. She’s very protective over her chocolate, but he prefers salty snacks anyway. He has a vivid memory of Thea eating an entire jar of peanut butter and throwing up all over him when they were kids, so he holds no resentment about the strict no peanut rule in the house.

It just works. Whatever _it_ is.

They’ve never spoken about it, other than him telling her right at the beginning to let him know if she ever wanted him out. She’d laughed and agreed. He’d given her a confused look and she’d just smiled, because she knew that if that was the only thing that would prompt him to leave, he was going to be there forever.

She wonders if it’s good or bad that she hopes he will be.

Two months into their new living arrangement, they’re sitting on the couch eating Chinese and watching a late night talk show, when she turns to him and says; “I cleared out some space in the attic yesterday. So you can get the rest of your stuff from that storage place if you want.”

He looks at her, his eyes softening with affection and gratitude. They don’t need to talk about it. His simple ‘thank you’ is words enough.

But a few days later when he’s all moved in, officially this time, he catches her by the wrist as she passes him on the landing, ducks his head and kisses her cheek.

“Thank you.” There’s more weight to his words this time around. And she understands what he means. Everything he’s thanking her for.

So she smiles up at him, squeezes his hand and says; “Always. So what’s for dinner tonight?”


	6. love me, love me not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rashaka asked: prompt: After the finale, Felicty notices that Oliver is being nicer to her, more attentive, hovering over her more, doing little things for her. She's kinda happy, yet confused, and also kinda pissed off. ...He's sending mixed messages between what he said vs how he behaves, and she doesn't know how to react.

Oliver’s always been a bit of a mystery, so stoic and quiet, it’s never been easy to tell what he’s thinking. But he’s nothing if not consistent. Or at least, he used to be. Which is why Felicity’s left a little reeling from the sudden game of hot and cold he seems to want to play.

Hot and cold is probably exaggerating. It’s more like warm and tepid. His words being the tepid part, and the rest being the warmth.

His eyes linger for longer than they used to, on her lips as she talks, on the back of her head as she works at her computers.

His hands linger too. On the small of her back as they walk side by side, firm against her skin instead of just short of touching, as they were in the past. They come rest on her shoulders when he stands behind her chair in the foundry, thumbs rubbing in tiny circles over the back of her neck in an entirely too intimate way. He keeps tucking strands of hair behind her ear, stroking a hand down her arm before he leaves a room, offering to help her down the stairs.

He seems to find any excuse to touch her, which she’s not complaining about, per se. She’s just confused. And she’s fairly sure she has reason to be, some of his excuses are pretty feeble. He held her hand once while Dig stitched up a gash on his side. Which was weird and ridiculous, because, well he’s _Oliver_.

And it’s not just the unnecessary touching. He keeps doing little things for her, like leaving a box of Lucky Charms on her desk after she mentioned a craving for them the day before. And that time she ripped her new blouse while on an undercover mission and woke up the next morning to find a brand new one waiting for her on her doorstep.

Those are the sort of little gestures you’d expect from a boyfriend. Not from your vigilante, crime fighting partner who _does not love you._

If he hadn’t taken just about every opportunity over the past two years to tell her that they could never be together like that, she might start questioning what exactly his motivations are. But that’s what makes the whole thing even more puzzling. He _has_ taken every opportunity to make sure she understands that they were just _selling it._ She knows he doesn’t see her as anything more than his tech girl, his friend, his partner. And she’s okay with that. Sure, she has feelings for him, but she’s not some schoolgirl pining over an unrequited crush.

It would, however _,_ be a whole lot easier to deal with if he would just stop being so damn confusing.

She wonders if it’s guilt, if he’s trying to smother her in kindness to make up for some perceived wrong doing on his part. But she can’t think of anything he’d need to apologize for. And even if there is something, a simple sorry would be fine.

It’s times like this that she wishes she was as good at unraveling people as she is code.

She puts up with it, of course. Leaves him to work out whatever it is that he needs to work out. Tolerating Oliver Queen’s emotionally stunted behavior is pretty much her job description these days.

She gets a handle on her own feelings, forces herself not to read anything into the gestures or the smiles or the way his eyes visibly light up when they land on her.

She doesn’t ask, or push him, or try to corner him into admitting something, because that’s not how they work. She’ll never push him towards something he’s not ready for. She’ll never ask anything of him that he can’t give.

 *

She eventually does ask him about it, at some point in the future, when they’re tangled up in bed sheets and each other. He laughs, holds her tighter against him, and says; “Honestly, I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I guess I just wanted to be closer to you.” She smiles, rolls her eyes and kisses a scar on his chest. Mission accomplished.


	7. someday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt: Felicity starts dating her new boss (next season) and Oliver lectures her on all the reasons she shouldn't date him. Basically it's all the reasons they can't date and someone calls him out on it.
> 
> AN: I changed it a tiny bit, sorry! I just like to live in my happy bubble where Oliver gets his company back and everything goes back to normal. Also I don’t really like the idea of Felicity dating her boss (unless it’s Oliver ofc) simply because I think she’s too smart to do that unless she really had strong feelings for him… idk, sorry! I hope you like it anyway though :)

“Why are there flowers on your desk?” His eyes settle on the roses the second he walks through the door. Roses. How cliché.

“Because someone gave them to me.” She gives him an odd look and he grits his teeth. It shouldn’t bother him that someone gave her flowers. Why wouldn’t people give her flowers? She’s beautiful, smart, funny, in fact he’s surprised he doesn’t have to deal with this more often.

“Who are they from?” He asks, not sure he really wants to know. He has no claim over her, he can’t control who she dates. So what’s the point in torturing himself with the image of her with someone else?

“A guy from IT. You don’t know him.” She shrugs, turning back to her computer.

“He works in the building?” He asks with a frown, wracking his brain for any familiar faces from her old department.

“Yeah?” She glances up at him, eyebrows raised.

“Felicity you can’t date someone you work with!” It comes out a little more adamant than he intended.

“Says who?” She looks indignant and he just knows that this is going to end up as an argument. But he can’t seem to stop himself.

“It’s against company policy.” It is. Technically. But he’s fully aware that he’s being a bit of a hypocrite.

“We’re not even in the same department, Oliver. And we just had dinner together, it’s no big deal.” She sighs and rolls her eyes at him, green fingernails tapping against her desk. Green. His color.  _His_.

“I don’t want it affecting your concentration.” He  _knows_  that’s the wrong thing to say. He’s digging himself into a hole, he should just stop talking, tell her the flowers are nice, and ask when his first meeting is. But he doesn’t. Because he’s an idiot and he apparently enjoys torturing himself.

But why did she have to pick today to get given flowers? He’s had a terrible morning and he’s itching to take it out on somebody. He idly wonders if her new friend has any illegal secrets hidden in that computer of his. Maybe he needs a visit from the Hood. You know, for the sake of the city.

 

She’s scowling at him and he closes his eyes briefly as he awaits her anger. He knew that last comment wouldn’t lead to anything good.

“Are you serious? Do you realize how misogynistic you sound right now?” Her eyes are narrowed dangerously and now would be an excellent time for an apology. If he was a little more sensible, and a little less self-destructive, perhaps he would’ve given one.

“Okay then what about your reputation?” He plays his final card, a cheap shot considering it’s his fault her reputation is on the line to begin with.

“Yes because God forbid a young single woman has dinner with a nice guy. We’re going to need to get Olivia Pope in here to fix this scandal.”

“What?”

“Pop culture reference. Look Oliver, what is this about? He’s a nice guy, if I want to date him, I can.”

It’s true. Of course it’s true. He just doesn’t  _want_  it to be true.

“I don’t think it’s a wise move. Too many things could go wrong. You could break up and not be able to work together anymore, you could be called in by human resources and fired… there’s too many variables and it’s too dangerous.”

“Is this why he can’t date her or why you can’t?” Dig chimes in, smirking as he finally makes his presence known. Oliver turns to see him sitting on the couch behind them, eyebrows raised as he witnesses the whole exchange. Oliver glares at him, while Felicity looks confused.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Fine. You know what, date whoever you want. I need some air.” He strides out of the room, fully aware of how petulant he sounds.

He knows he’s being unreasonable. It’s a classic case of ‘if he can’t have her, no one can’ and it’s not new. The whole Barry Allen saga just about gave him an embolism. And the worst part is, intellectually, he wants Felicity to be happy, more than anything. He wants her to have someone who treats her well and leaves her flowers and looks out for her. Of course he does. But then his heart, and other parts of his anatomy, drown out his brain and all of those nice, sensible thoughts fly out the window.

He wants good things for her, it’s just that… he wants to be the one giving them to her. Which he can’t do, for all the reasons he just said, and so many more.

Which means he has to put up with Barry Allens and IT guys and try not to have an early heart attack from the stress.

And maybe, at some point in the future, things will be different and he’ll have every right to bully off any man who so much as looks at her. Maybe.

He takes a deep breath and, steeling himself for the apology he needs to give, heads back to his office, with thoughts of  _someday_ dancing through his mind.

 

 


	8. pool shark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: if your still taking prompts: Felicity is really good at pool

“Yes!” She lifts her arms above her head in victory as she sinks the last ball. “Score. I win!” She does a little celebratory dance, and Oliver watches her in amusement from his place at the bar.

Taking pity on her unwitting opponents, he approaches the table just as they’re reluctantly forking over their losses. 

His hand falls to the small of her back, sliding around her waist to rest on her hip, drawing her against his side.

“Your girlfriend’s a shark.” One of the guys complains, slapping a twenty into her waiting hand.

“No I’m not!” She objects. “Shark implies I scam people for the money. I just like winning.” She grins cheekily and Oliver smiles and kisses the top of her head.

“If you’re done taking money from your unsuspecting victims, why don’t we head home. When that last tequila shot hits you, you’re going to be on the floor.”

“Am not.” She pouts cutely and he chuckles, ducking his head to place a brief, affectionate kiss on her lips.

“Come on, Birthday Girl. I still haven’t given you my present yet.”

She bites her lip and slides a hand under the hem of his shirt, fingers dancing against the muscles on his stomach.

“That sounds promising.”

He groans lightly and grabs her hand before her explorations become entirely too X-rated for Verdant.

“I was thinking of my actual gift. But I could probably be persuaded…”

“Well then, by all means take me home so I can  _persuade_ you.” She winks, looping her arm through his and leaning against him as they make their way across the dance floor.

“Did you enjoy your party?” He asks, nodding to Dig who leaves to bring their car around.

“Yes, thank you. And…” She waves her stack of pool money in front of his face. “I made a hundred bucks!”

“That’s my girl.”

 

 


	9. astronomically loved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pinkflowers-happyhours asked: After an uncalled for night of passion, Felicity winds up pregnant, which leads to a very overprotective Oliver

Oliver’s always been protective of her. It’s one of those things she’s half loved and half hated about him since the beginning. It only increases after they sleep together for the first time. His fear of seeing her hurt seems to skyrocket, and his protective instincts become so ingrained she can’t get a paper cut without him fretting.

He’s even more reluctant to send her out in the field than he was before, and it usually takes the combined efforts of Diggle, Roy and herself to talk him into it.

He worries about the little things too. Like whether she remembers to lock her windows at night, and making sure she never walks anywhere alone after dark. It’s irritating and over the top, but she understands. She knows that he often feels a complete lack of control in his life, an inability to stop bad things from befalling those he loves. He’s witnessed so many people die, so many people hurt, she can hardly blame him for being paranoid.

And it’s sweet, how much he cares for her. She’s never experienced that in her life, having someone who’s willing to do anything to keep her safe, happy and well.

But she doesn’t think it’s possible for him to get more intense about it.

And then she gets pregnant. And he becomes so protective. So ridiculously, unnecessarily, overprotective that it should annoy the hell out of her.

And it does from time to time.But she can never bring herself to tell him to stop.

He wakes her some nights, crying out for her in his sleep, sweat dripping down his brow as he battles against the demons that haunt his subconscious. She rouses him gently, with whispered words and soft hands, stroking tense muscles until they ease beneath her fingers. And then he curls himself around her, covering as much of her body as he can without crushing her. Hands stroking incomprehensible patterns over her swollen tummy, he rests his head on her chest, letting her heartbeat lull him back to sleep.

She knows something of the images that fill his nightmares. She’s gathered enough from the words he mutters before she manages to wake him. It’s always the same, he’s just a second too slow, and he’s forced to hold her as she fades in his arms. From what she can tell, sometimes she’s still pregnant, and he feels both of their heartbeats still beneath his hands, unable to save them. And sometimes their son is there, crying as he watches his father cling to her lifeless body.

With that knowledge, how can she possibly deny him any peace of mind she can offer?

So she indulges him, she puts on an extra sweater when he tells her to, even though she knows there isn’t a draft. She rarely works more than five hours a day and never goes out in the field. She goes for a check up way more often than necessary and keeps a diary of what she eats. She lets him get her a dog, a big German shepherd, to guard her when he’s not around. They argued about that one for a couple of days before she gave in, but she’s glad she did. They’ve become sound friends and she enjoys the company in the lair when her vigilantes are off being heroes.

She lets Oliver take care of her, protect her in every way he can, because she knows that his worst fear is losing her. Losing them. And, most importantly, because she loves him.

She knows he knows that she’s humoring him, every time she agrees to one of his ridiculous requests, he thanks her, kisses her, offers to cook her dinner or rub her feet. He appreciates her understanding, her tolerance and does everything he can, not to be too overbearing.

It’s a give and take. It’s difficult, and sometimes they get it wrong. Sometimes they fight, sometimes they mess up, sometimes she runs off crying because the life they lead is stressful and painful and occasionally her own fear threatens to consume her. But he always finds her; he’s always there for her, a warm chest to cuddle into, a gentle voice to reassure her.

And he’s more careful too, she listens every night with wide eyes and a racing heart as he fights for his city, praying that he’ll come home to her, he always promises he will, and he’s never let her down yet.

It’s imperfect. They’re imperfect. But it works.

So when Oliver starts chastising her about not wearing slippers on their hardwood floors, rambling about splinters and loose nails and tetanus shots, she just smiles, because she knows their kid is going to be so impossibly, astronomically loved. Just like she is.


	10. (not) a damsel in distress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Felicity: "I don't need need a bow and arrow to put the fear of God in people"

 

Oliver’s trying very hard not to think about what he’s going to find when he finally reaches her. If he does, he’ll start to panic, and he needs all his wits about him so he can defeat the people stupid enough to mess with her.

What he’s certainly _not_ expecting to see when he finally bursts into the room where she's being held, is a very triumphant looking Felicity, standing over six feet of unconscious mobster, clutching some sort of weapon in her shaking hands.

She looks to the door when she hears him enter, relaxing when her eyes settle on his familiar figure.

“Oliver.” She drops what he can now see is her very broken tablet, and turns towards him, a slightly nervous, slightly relieved expression on her face.

“What happened?” He’s still staring at her captor trying to figure out the logistics of the whole thing. Felicity’s a very capable person, smart beyond belief, talented, resourceful… But he has to admit, he’s still not quite sure how she managed to overpower a man who has roughly a hundred and fifty pounds on her and is probably trained in several forms of martial arts.

She shrugs, biting her lip as she glances back at his body.

“I threatened to send his wife some pictures I found of him enjoying a full service brothel, he tried to grab my tablet and I took the opportunity to hit him. It worked better than I thought.” She pauses before grinning, her eyes twinkling with adrenaline as she says; “I don’t need a bow and arrow to put the fear of God into people.”

Oliver huffs out a laugh and can’t help but agree. She’s constantly surprising him with her brilliance, he’d be lying if he said it isn’t one of the things he loves about her.

“Clearly.”

“Are you mad?” She asks, some of her confidence from her victory fading slightly as she looks up at him.

“Proud, actually.” She beams and he smiles at her affectionately. “Come here.”

She doesn’t hesitate to close the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeaking in surprise when his hands reach for her thighs and pick her up. Her legs curl around his waist and she rolls her hips slightly, smirking cheekily at him.

“Hey now. I just rescued you, don’t be mean.”

He begins to carry her back the way he came, one hand firm under her thighs while the other strokes circles onto her waist.

“I rescued myself!” She objects, pouting indignantly.

He stops walking, raising the hand at her waist to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, knuckles brushing softly against her cheek.

“Yes you did.”

He’s never going to be okay with putting her in danger, but he knows she’s not a damsel in distress anymore. She’s strong and she’s brave and she’s the best of all of them.

He ducks his head and presses a brief kiss to her pink lips. She smiles against him, her forehead coming to rest against his as he pulls away.

“Thank you for coming for me.” She whispers, her breath warm on his face, her eyes soft as they gaze into his.

“I’ll always come for you.” He kisses the tip of her nose before starting to walk again. “Even when you don’t need it.”

 She chuckles and rests her head on his shoulder, letting him carry her to safety. She may be able to take care of herself, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t thoroughly enjoy the benefits of letting Oliver do it for her from time to time.

“I broke my tablet though.” She mumbles against his neck, sounding incredibly sad all of a sudden.

He rubs a hand down her back. “I’ll buy you a new one. You should have one on you at all times, they make excellent weapons apparently.” He drawls, only half kidding.

“Oh! You know what I should get? A frying pan! Like in Tangled! Those make great weapons, and they’re cheaper too.”

He smiles as he listens to her go off into a ramble, letting her words wash over him, soothing his frayed nerves. By the time they’ve reached his bike she’s saying something about spinach, and as he settles her helmet over her head, he wonders how it’s possible for a person to love anyone quite as much as he does her. 

 


	11. dances and denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theiitgirll asked: Hiiii, how about Olicity first dance and Thea taking a picture to show them later???

Thea’s witnessed first hand the number of girls to pass in and out of Oliver’s life.

But there’s something different about her. The blonde he spends so much time with. _Felicity._ She’s beautiful, just like the rest, smart, unlike some of them. But it’s not those qualities that make her stand out.

It’s the way Ollie looks at her. The way he looks _to_ her when he’s doubting himself, seeks resolution in her eyes. The way he smiles at her, a little surprised quirk of his lips, that seems to happen without his permission.

Thea’s always been observant, and she knows there’s something between them. She’s asked, of course, only to be met with adamant denial, and a lot of blushing and rambling on Felicity’s part.

But this… This is the final piece of evidence she needs.

They’re dancing, oblivious to everyone around them. Felicity’s head is resting on his shoulder, while Oliver’s is ducked down, his cheek pressed to her temple. Even in her heels he has inches on her. His hands are slung low across her hips, holding her close with his fingers laced together. Her arms are hooked under his, hands gripping the material of his jacket. It’s more an embrace than a dance. They’re barely moving, slowly swaying from side to side in time to the soft music.

There are people all around them, some couples dancing properly, while others stand idle and gossip. Thea can hear more than one conversation regarding her brother and his _partner_ from where she’s standing by the bar. But they haven’t noticed. Too lost in their own little world to be aware of their surroundings.

It’s sweet. If a little nauseating. Not to mention _frustrating_ because everyone and their grandma can see what’s going on between those two. Except, apparently, them.

A lot’s happened over the years since Oliver came home from the island. Some good, lots bad. But Felicity’s stood by his side through everything. And that, in Thea’s book, makes her perfect for him.

She’s never seen him as at peace as he looks right now.

Pulling out her phone, she edges a little closer to them, slipping through the crowd so she has an unobstructed view. She takes a quick photo, smiling as she looks at it. She’ll show it at their wedding. Tell the story of how oblivious they both were, set the whole room laughing at the thought that they took so long to see what was right in front of them.

They’re _both_ short sighted like that. Thea laughs at her joke, pockets her phone, and goes in search of Roy. She needs a sidekick in her plan to get these idiots together.


	12. comfort and definitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mimozka asked: I loved your Bones/Arrow ficlet. So here goes: how about Felicity gets drugged in a bar and doesn't remember a thing over the past 72h. She hasn't contacted team arrow either. Enter a worried Oliver (partner) - a la B&B 1x19 "The Man in the Morgue". thank you :)
> 
> *
> 
> AN: Sorry this took so long, college is kicking my ass. I actually have another version of this written which is getting really out of hand and is like 2000 words already, but it’s not finished and it needs loads of editing and stuff… so until I have time to finish that, I hope you enjoy this little thing! Thanks for the prompt <3

“Sir, you can’t go in there!”

Felicity looks up as the door bursts open, letting out a sigh of relief when her eyes fall on Oliver’s familiar figure barreling through the door.

He’s at her side in an instant, brushing off the angry nurse trailing behind him. His eyes darken as he takes in her bruised face, a deep crease forming between his brows.

“You didn’t have to come.” She murmurs, despite how happy she is to see him. Because she is, happy that is. She’s feeling vulnerable and scared and he’s really the only person who can make that go away.

He gently brushes his knuckles down her cheek in a feather-light caress, and she leans into the touch, grateful for the warmth and familiarity.

“You’re hurt.” There’s a note of anger in his voice, and she can see the raging turmoil in his eyes. “Where else would I be?”

She smiles softly up at him, feeling safe and comforted for the first time since she woke up, bruised and battered in her hotel room. He has that power, to make her feel protected even in the worst moments.

The doctor who was treating to her injuries, before they were interrupted by his abrupt entrance, makes her presence known by pointedly clearing her throat.

Oliver’s hand falls from her face and she blushes, her eyes flying back to the doctor.

“Oliver Queen.” He holds out his hand.

“Dr. Woods.” She gives it a firm shake before turning back to Felicity. “We still have some tests to run, but your boyfriend can stay if you want.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Felicity jumps in quickly. “He’s just my boss. Wait, that sounded disrespectful, I didn’t mean  _just_ like- I mean we’re not, it’s not… He’s not my boyfriend.” She sighs and presses her eyes closed.

She knows if she looks at Oliver, he’ll be smiling that little indulgent smile he saves just for her.

The doctor’s eyebrows raise skeptically. “Honey, my boss can barely remember my name on a good day. Yours flies across the country at a moments notice because you got hurt…?” Oliver glares the poor woman down and she breaks off. “ _Okay_. Well would you prefer he wait outside then?”

“No he can stay.” Felicity says quickly, grabbing his hand, suddenly terrified at the thought of him leaving.

He gently tangles his fingers with hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. She gets lost in his eyes for a moment, unspoken words floating between them, until he tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing against her neck, sending a shiver down her spine.

“I’m staying.” He says firmly. Whether for Doctor Woods’ benefit or to reassure her, she’s not sure. But she appreciates it all the same.

“Just your boss my sweet behind.” The doctor mutters, a smile on her face as she gets back to work.

Neither Oliver or Felicity react, but his fingers stay wrapped around hers for the rest of the exam, occasionally rubbing soft circles over her knuckles.


	13. i'll love you endlessly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Felicity's thoughts at Oliver's funeral.  
> This is horrible. Anon why would you ask this?
> 
> *******CHARACTER DEATH/TRAGEDY********

People keep telling her that life never throws you more than you can handle, and she just laughs through her tears.

They look at her differently now, with sorrow in their eyes and pity in their hearts. She’s a walking tragedy, a fairytale love story shot to smithereens before all their eyes.

No one knows what to say, but she doesn’t care. There are no words, nothing anyone could do to make it better. Where their eyes hold pity, hers hold emptiness. 

She sneaks away from the crowds of black coats and somber hats, her heels sinking into the damp grass before she slips them off. Her fingers trail along the gravestones, some weathered, moss and lichen decorating their cold edges. Others new, fresh, names carved in cursive script, memorializing people she doesn’t know. She wonders what his will look like. What words will adorn the stone that marks his memory.

Her feet are cold and wet, toes curling into the grass. She’s shivering in her dress. As black as the rest, simple and sweet. He would’ve hated it. He liked her in colors. Sometimes he would count them, see if he could find a whole rainbow, fingers tugging at buttons to reveal the secret colors hidden beneath, just for him.

She knows she should be in there with the rest, tears falling into her handkerchief as she mourns her loss like a good girl. But she’s all cried out, and she doesn’t want to share her grief with all those strange faces.

They all say that they understand, they’re hurting too, and she hates them a little bit, because none of them hurt as much as she does. None of them could ever understand.

She lies down, the morning dew creeping into her bones, watches planes track lines across the sky.

When her eyes flutter closed, his greet her. His face is burned into the back of her eyelids, assaulting her with every blink. It’s best when she sleeps. Because then he’s there, hands on her face, words of comfort in her ear. Real and warm and solid.

She always wakes up, thinking for just one moment that he’ll be there beside her. In the empty space his death left in her bed. Shaking fingers reach for cold sheets, tears falling down her cheeks as she relives it all over again. And then she drinks her favorite wine, the red he used to buy her after a bad day, she drinks until the ruby liquid casts her back into unconsciousness. Back to him.

Someone’s calling her name, but she doesn’t reply. She knows she has to go and pay her respects. Stand in front of a mass of mourners and express her pain, give a speech filled with love and hope, immortalize him with her words. But how can they possibly expect her to do that? What do they expect her to say?

She could talk about the way he’d kiss her when she was sad, little caresses against her cheeks, until her tears ceased. She could talk about how he fought for everything he had, fought for everyone he loved like it was his only reason for living. She could tell the story of how he died to save her. Of how he hadn’t even thought twice before diving in front of her, using his body as a shield against an onslaught of bullets neither of them should have survived. But she did, because even in death he protected her, his body falling to cover hers until the danger had passed and her sobs were the only sound in that cold room. She could talk about the way she loved him, fearless and all consuming, the sort of love that sent waves of emotion crashing over her at the silliest things. The sort of love that made her want to turn back time, anticipate his move and take those bullets herself. Let them bleed the life out of her in that soulless house, let her die quickly and easily, cradled in his arms. Instead of here, cold and alone, slowly letting the sorrow chip away at her. She died in heart that night, all that’s left now is her body.

But she can’t say any of that. Because it’s a secret, and it’s  _theirs_ , not for anyone else’s ears. It’s for hers alone, and his, wherever he is.

The sky is blue and cloudless, a gentle breeze making the trees sway gently above her. She thinks about him up there somewhere, looking down on her, loving her from worlds away. She wishes she could believe it. Wonders if it would help if she did.

The air shifts and she opens her eyes, turning her head to see Diggle lie down beside her. Sad eyes staring into sad eyes.

He doesn’t try to comfort her, doesn’t try to cajole her back into the church, doesn’t say anything.

It’s all been said before, and he knows better than anyone that she  _won’t_ be okay. That words of consolation will fall on deaf ears and dying hearts.

She’s barely spoken since that night, and he’s stopped trying to get her to talk. She thinks he’s probably already accepted the fact that he lost  _two_  friends to a madman with a machine gun on a terrible Wednesday night.

They stay there, lying on wet grass in a cold graveyard, until the world comes to get them, calling their names and pulling their hands until they give in.

She walks slowly back with them, hands on her elbows, words dancing around her head. And she wants to scream at them all to leave her alone, but she can’t find the energy.

Life drifts by in a blur of dulled colors and muffled sounds, a world she used to find so much joy in, whittled down to nothing but a duty.

 

 


	14. shades of green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Awkward dinner with Digg, Lyla, Laurel, Oliver, Felicity, & Dick Grayson. Oliver and Felicity have been secretly together for a while but Oliver thinks she's safer if no one knows. They both get jealous that the other one is out with someone else.
> 
> AN: I literally forgot about the Digg and Lyla bit until I’d already written it, sorry! So this is missing that aspect, but i hope you enjoy anyway! Also this might be rated T? Idk, but there’s kissing.

 

Felicity doesn’t know how she finds herself in these situations. Of all the awkward moments she’s suffered through in her life, and there have been a lot, this one takes the cake.

And it  _shouldn’t_  be awkward really, she’s on a date with a lovely, charming young man who seems to really like her.

The only problem? Her secret boyfriend is sitting opposite them, on a date with his ex-girlfriend. Awkward.

It all started when Richard Grayson, visiting town to lend a hand, asked her out. She would’ve simply declined as nicely as possible, had he not chosen to ask her with Oliver in the room. Upon hearing the question, her eyes had flicked to him, and of course then followed the whole ‘ _oh are you two together?’_  thing, which prompted a rather long winded ramble on her part, denying any relationship with her boss.

Really, she could just blame this whole thing on Oliver, if he hadn’t been so determined to keep their relationship a secret (‘it’s too dangerous’, ‘your reputation at work will be damaged’) none of this would have happened.

But as it was, she’d denied, rather too adamantly, being involved with Oliver in any way. Which, judging by the flicker of hurt that had crossed his face, wasn’t the right thing to do. She’d then found herself in the situation where she was unable to refuse Grayson’s invitation, and her flustered agreement had done nothing to wipe away the dark glower that had slowly spread across Oliver’s face.

Then, because the universe seemed to want to punish her, Laurel had walked in. And somehow, she wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but the whole thing had turned into the double date from hell.

 

And so here they are. Felicity avoiding Oliver’s eyes, while trying to ignore the fact that Laurel’s hand is very clearly on his thigh,  _and_  trying to find the right tone of friendly conversation to have with Richard without sounding either rude, or flirtatious. She’s pretty sure she’s developing an anxiety disorder.

 She takes a sip of the very expensive red wine that Laurel ordered, a polite smile on her face as Richard regales her with a story from Gotham. She can feel Oliver’s eyes burning into her, but resists the urge to look up and meet them.

When Laurel joins in the conversation, complete with an anecdote from back when she and Oliver were kids, turning to laugh with him, her eyes sparkling beautifully, Felicity’s just about had enough. And then Richard laughs a little too loudly and his hand lands on Felicity’s knee.

The wine glass that’s been clutched in her fist for the past ten minutes, slams onto the table, the wine slopping up the side.

“Sorry.” She mumbles, her cheeks flushing. “If you’ll excuse me, the ladies room beckons.” She stands up, nodding uncomfortably at Richard when he stands with her, holding her chair out.

He really is a nice guy, in a different life, she imagines they could have been pretty good together.

She catches Oliver’s eye as she walks away, his gaze is searching before he drops it, turning back to the table where their companions are demanding his attention.

Once in the bathroom Felicity leans back against the sinks, burying her face in her hands and groaning out loud. She gives herself a few minutes to feel the horribleness of the whole night, before turning to look at her reflection, running her fingers under her eyes and straightening her hair. She trusts Oliver, and she knows that any insecurities that might be arising from seeing him and Laurel like this, in a social setting, looking all glamorous and shiny together, are her problem, not his. The thing she’s most worried about, is fending off Richard’s advances. She’s pretty sure that he won’t try anything too bad, but the two glasses of wine he had with dinner seem to have lowered his inhibitions. She’s hit with a new wave of anxiety as she suddenly starts to think about she’ll do if he tries to kiss her at the end of the date.

Her internal panic is interrupted when there’s a light knock on the door. She frowns, considering it’s a public bathroom, there’s no reason for anyone to be knocking. But she opens it anyway, eyes widening when they settle on Oliver. He’s standing outside the women’s bathroom, looking an equal mixture of awkward and annoyed. His eyes scan the room behind her, presumably searching for any other occupants.

“What are you doing-?” She’s cut off when he steps in, his hands falling to her waist, pushing her back against the wall, the door clicking shut behind them. “Oliver.” She cautions as he lowers his head, lips hovering just above hers. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” He silences her with a kiss, hot and demanding, teeth nipping at her lips, tongue stroking against hers until she forgets why this is a terrible idea.

His hands are rough on her hips, just short of painful as he hauls her closer, lifting her until her legs wrap around him. Letting herself get lost in the moment, her hands rake through his short hair and her head falls back as he trails a line of wet kisses down the column of her neck, reaching her collarbone and sucking a mark into her skin where it will  _just_  be hidden by her dress.

She gasps his name, her hands scrabbling for purchase against his broad shoulders as he presses into her. She can feel his need, and the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Apparently he’s had about as much fun watching her with someone else all evening as she has him.

“Mine.” As if reading her mind, he lifts his head and whispers the word against her lips, his eyes staring into hers. Hard and unrelenting. “Mine.”

She ignores the feminist in her that wants to jump up and point out that she doesn’t  _belong_ to anybody, in favor of the fluttery feelings his rough voice is creating in her stomach. She’ll give him a pass on this one, because she has to admit, she’s feeling a little possessive too.

Her hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him down until he kisses her again.

“Yours.” It’s a promise. One she intends to keep.

A few minutes, and more than a few kisses later, she reluctantly pulls away, turning her head to the side with a giggle as he frowns, nuzzling her cheek as his lips seek out hers once more.

“We should probably go back out there.”  She mumbles, enjoying the way his stubble is scratching gently against her skin. The anger fueled heat from before has faded a bit, and he’s tender as he presses soft kisses against her jaw. Effectively making any stirrings of jealousy she might still have been feeling over the whole Laurel thing, melt away. She turns to look at him, eyes meeting his, blue on blue. His gaze is warm and she knows her eyes are shining with the rush of love she suddenly feels for him. He smiles softly, pecking her lips quickly, one last time, before lowering her to the floor and taking a step back.

“Just do me a favor though, and stop touching him.”

She rolls her eyes, reaching up to wipe her lipstick from around his mouth, he ducks his head, lips twitching upwards as she wipes away the smears of pink.

“I’m not touching him. He’s touching me, there’s a difference.” She says pointedly, glancing down at his leg where Laurel’s hand’s been fixed for most of the night.

He sighs, rubbing his fingers through his hair as she turns to the mirror to salvage her appearance.

“This whole thing was a terrible idea.” He mutters, and she looks up, catching his eyes in the reflection, eyebrows raised incredulously.

“Are you just figuring that out now? At what point did you think this was a good idea?”

He shrugs, coming to stand behind her, the hard contours of his front pressing against the curves of her back, sending a shiver down her spine. He rests his chin on her top of her head, watching her in the mirror as she fixes her makeup.

“I don’t want to see you with anyone else.” He says softly.

Her eyes flick up to his, and she smiles at the emotion she sees, the love that shines through, spoken in so many silent ways.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else.” She assures him, hand falling to entwine with his where it rests on her hip.

She takes one more moment, just the two of them, before stepping away, taking a deep breath and composing herself.

“Come on. They probably think we snuck out the window or something. And I am amazed that no one walked in here during that whole…” She gestures to the wall he had her pinned against just minutes earlier. “We’re probably pushing our luck.”

His hand gravitates to its’ position at the small of her back as they leave the bathroom, fingers briefly rubbing secret circles into the material of her dress before falling away.

“If he kisses you, I’m going to kill somebody. Probably him.” He whispers low into her ear as they approach the table. She forces herself not to laugh, and nods her head seriously.

“Noted.”

They manage to stumble through the rest of the evening, eyes meeting each other’s across the table more often than is strictly appropriate. But if either Laurel or Richard notice, they don’t mention it.

And every time Laurel laughs a little too hard at something Oliver says, or leans in a touch too close, Felicity doesn’t react. Because she knows that he’s in this thing with her one hundred percent. And she trusts him.

(Grayson pecks her on the cheek at the end of the night, and she can practically feel Oliver’s sigh of relief.)

It’s later when he comes over to her house, suit replaced by sweatpants and a t-shirt, a tub of ice cream in hand, that they come to the conclusion that their relationship should come out of the proverbial closet.

He ends up eating the ice cream off her body, and she concludes that the whole night wasn’t such a debacle after all.

 

 


	15. extreme trust exercises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> placeofold asked: Olicity - buried alive (if you are accepting prompts at the moment - this came to mind when I saw your amazing Bones prompts =D)

The first thing Felicity’s aware of, is a hand running rhythmically through her hair. Fingers gently teasing, rubbing soothing circles against her head. It’s pleasant, soft and comforting. She burrows deeper into the solid mass beneath her, enjoying the warmth.

“Felicity?”

Even in her half conscious state she recognizes Oliver’s voice. And then other, less pleasant things drift into her awareness. Like the scratchy, gritty feeling behind her eyes, the cramped position of her arms, and the stuffy air in her lungs. She tries to lift her head, confusion sweeping through her as she realizes she has no idea where she is. But a hand holds her tighter, keeping her head pressed against what she’s just registering is Oliver’s chest.

“What’s happening?” She mumbles, her voice sounding thick and foreign to her own ears.

“It’s okay. Just try to stay relaxed.” He says gently.

He sounds calm, but she can hear the slight edge. The note of… She almost wants to say fear. Her eyes flutter open, and she blinks, meeting nothing but darkness. 

She tries to shift, her unease rising quickly when he again prevents her movement.

“Oliver?” Her voice trembles, and her hands shake as they move against his arms, trying to push herself into a sitting position.

He grabs both her wrists in one of his hands, trapping them against him.

“Felicity. Do you trust me?”

She can feel his warm breath against her forehead, and despite her rising panic, she nods instantly.

“Yes.”

“Then I need you to stay still. And keep your breathing as even as you can.” He says quietly.

She opens her mouth to question him, protest, when his hand slips from her hair, a thumb stroking along her cheekbone and beneath her eye.

“Please. Just trust me.” He whispers, imploring.

She takes a steadying breath and squeezes her eyes closed.

“Okay.”

His hand continues its ministrations through her hair.

Her mind, still a little foggy from what she assumes was some sort of drug, starts to race a mile a minute, puzzle pieces fitting together slowly as she thinks back.

She remembers the mission, going undercover with Oliver. She remembers him guarding the door while she downloaded information from a bank of computers. She remembers creeping down a hallway, his hand holding her behind him, tension rolling off him in waves. And then nothing.

She silently assesses their position, noting with a slight blush, that she’s lying along the length of Oliver’s body, her bare feet tucked against his shins. She wonders when she lost her shoes.

The thing that’s worrying her most, is his lack of action, his passiveness. She can feel his muscles coiled beneath her, feel his readiness for a fight. But he’s not giving one. He’s lying still, his heartbeat just slightly elevated beneath her ear. What that tells her, is that he’s already tried. He’s already exhausted every option, every way to get them out of whatever predicament they’re in. And that’s a thought that causes a ball of fear to settle deep in her stomach.

“How bad is it?” She mumbles, a hand curling into a fist in his shirt. She’s not sure she really wants to know the answer. She’s positive he doesn’t want to give it.

“Dig will find us.” He says, evading the question.

“And if he doesn’t?”

He doesn’t answer, and her heart stutters in her chest.

“Oliver, please.” Her voice breaks and tears sting her already sore eyes.

He sighs softly, and she can sense his reluctance.

“I’m not sure I should tell you what’s happening. You might panic and… That would be really bad right now.” He explains softly, his own voice slightly shaky.

It only takes her a few moments to figure it out. She is a genius after all. And when she does, she instantly wishes she hadn’t. A shiver of dread snakes up her spine and she unconsciously presses herself closer against him.

“How much oxygen do we have?”  She whispers, forcing her breathing to stay even.

There’s a moment of hesitation, and she knows he’s considering not telling her. But then he does and she has to hold her breath to stave of the bubble of hysteria that rises so quickly within her it takes her by surprise.

“Not much. I’d guess… less than an hour.”

She takes a moment to get herself under control, before nodding, even though he can’t see her. Her fingers fiddle with a button on his shirt.

“There’s no way out?” She already knows the answer. If there was, they’d already be long gone.

“No.”

A tear slips unbidden from her eye, trailing down her nose before landing on his chest. He tightens his arm around her, his hand brushing down her back.

“Dig will find us.” He repeats. He sounds steady and calm, and she’s not sure if it’s simply unwavering confidence in their partner, or determination to keep her spirits up. She appreciates it all the same.

“At least it’s not spiders.” She mumbles. “I really would be panicking if it was spiders. And I’m not fond of snakes either. Or water. So really, of all the nightmare scenarios, I guess this is the best.”

She feels his lips press against her forehead, lingering against her skin.

“We’ll be okay, Felicity. I promise.”

She burrows closer into his warmth, letting her eyes fall closed.

“Yeah.”

Pressed up against him, arms holding her tight, soft breath on her face, she almost believes it.


	16. camping and cuddling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> greensmoakqueen asked: Oliver and Felicity and tent shenanigans while camping with the gang. ;)
> 
> This is cheesy, fluffy and a little ridiculous. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I’ve literally slept three hours in the last two days! :(

“This is a terrible plan.” Felicity mutters from where she’s seated on a tree stump, watching the boys set up tents.

“You thought it was brilliant a few hours ago.” Oliver counters, sticking the last peg in the ground and brushing his hands against his pants.

He has a point. She’d actually suggested the idea, believe it or not. It’s the best way to survey their latest foe, and after some research, she’d printed out maps and instructed everyone to get their camping equipment. She’s regretting the whole thing now though.

“Yes, but I didn’t think about the bugs. Or the rain or- oh my God are there bears out here?” She looks around the rocky clearing, her brow furrowing anxiously.

She really doesn’t like camping. Like really, really doesn’t like it.

“There are no bears Felicity, don’t worry.” Oliver sounds mildly amused and she glares at him, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Felicity, do you want to take a tent to yourself? The three of us can fit in the other.” Digg calls over, shielding his face from the steady rain that’s been slowly thickening since they arrived.

Roy’s sitting on a rock nearby, scowling at the whole situation and doing very little to help anybody. She can’t really blame him though, since she’s doing the exact same thing.

“Are you kidding? I’m not sleeping by myself out here. I hate the woods. I grew up in Vegas, this is not my natural habitat.” She mutters, grimacing and waving her arm in the air as a bug flits around her head. How it’s possible that there’re bugs  _and_  rain, she’s not sure. She thought the two were mutually exclusive.

Mission or not, this officially sucks.

“She’ll stay with me.” Oliver’s voice books no argument and he gives the other two a look, daring them to challenge him.

She shrugs. As awkward as sleeping in a tent with Oliver might be, he’s probably the best bet to protect her against any curious wildlife, so it works for her. 

“Okay, well let’s all try to get a few hours sleep, he should be arriving pretty early tomorrow.” Dig says, grabbing his bag from the pile beside her and walking towards one of the tents.

The plateau they’re camping on gives them a perfect view of their target’s hideout, and considering the guy is a paranoid, slightly psychotic arms dealer, who’s supposedly planning some big trade tomorrow, it’s an opportunity too good to miss.

Felicity picks up her own bag and tosses it into the other tent, kicking off her shoes and stumbling in after it, shivering slightly from the rain. Yeah, she definitely hates camping. The last time she had to do it was on Lian Yu, and it least it wasn’t raining then.

Dig and Roy turn in, bickering loudly as they try to figure out their sleeping arrangements. She snorts at the image of them cuddling up in a tent together, and wonders if she’ll manage to get a photo, blackmail purposes and all.

She’s unpacking her sleeping bag when Oliver climbs in, leaving his soaked jacket in the little porch section and sitting on the edge to unlace his shoes. When he turns around and crawls into the small space beside her, she’s reminded of just how big he is. Because seriously, his head brushes the roof when he’s sitting down, and his legs are at the very least a few inches longer than the length of the tent.

“This isn’t going to be very comfortable for you, is it?” She asks as he starts to unwrap his own sleeping bag, laying it down beside hers.

“I’ll be fine.”

His hands reach for his pants button and she gasps, quickly turning her back, accidentally elbowing him in the process.

It really is a  _tiny_  tent.

“Sorry.” She mutters, at his muffled ‘Oof.’ “Just, give a girl some warning before you start stripping.”

He sighs, and she keeps her eyes closed and tries very hard not to think about what he’s doing because that’s… distracting.

“You do realize you’ve seen me without pants before, right?” He’s says, amusement coloring his tone. “You stitched a stab wound in my thigh last week.”

“Yes, but this is different. Life threatening situations don’t count when it comes to seeing someone naked.”

“You can turn around now.” He says after a minute, and she does, relieved to see him in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Okay, my turn.” She grabs her bag and gives him a look. “Turn around.”

He awkwardly maneuvers himself until he’s facing the side of the tent, his head ducked to avoid brushing against the canvas.

Careful to keep her elbows to herself, she gets to changing, pulling her top over her head and folding it into her bag. There’s a muscle twitching on the side of Oliver’s neck, and she wonders, slightly smugly, if he’s having just as much difficulty keeping his thoughts clean as she is.

“Are you done?” He asks after about ten seconds.

“No I’m not done! What am I, a ninja? I’ll tell you when I’m done.” She huffs, rolling her eyes.

He mutters something unintelligible under his breath, but keeps his back dutifully turned as she pulls her jeans down her legs. She grimaces when she looks at her pajamas, she’d brought them because they’re the warmest ones she owns, but they’re pink and slightly fluffy and have panda faces printed all over them. Embarrassing.

She slips them on anyway, quickly buttoning up the top before taking off her glasses and placing them safely in her bag.

“Okay, all done.” She says lightly, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and combing her fingers through it.

He shifts back around, lips twitching up as he takes her in. She holds up a warning finger and gives him her most dangerous look.

“Not a word.”

He shakes his head, his small smile growing as his eyes run over her.

“They’re cute.” He says after a moment and her cheeks tinge pink at the affection in his voice.

She gives him a small, answering smile, letting her hand fall to her lap.

“Thanks.”

It takes some shuffling around, but they manage to get into their sleeping bags without causing each other any bodily harm. Oliver has to keep his legs slightly bent, and his shoulder brushes hers as they lie side by side.

He flicks the torch off and they’re plunged into darkness. She can vaguely hear Dig and Roy talking and snorts softly.

Oliver shifts slightly and she knows he’s turned to look at her.

“What?” He whispers, his breath fanning across her face.

“I was just imagining Dig and Roy together in a tent this size.” She says with a hushed giggle. “I mean, this is a tight fit for us and Dig’s even- is Dig bigger than you? I think he probably is width wise, but I’m not sure about length… And this is sounding so wrong so I’m just going to stop that train of thought right there. But anyway, Roy’s definitely bigger than me, so they’ve got to be pretty cramped in there, was the point I was trying to make.” She sighs, and her cheeks flame, hidden in the darkness.

He’s chuckling quietly by the time she’s finished and she rolls her eyes, burrowing deeper into her sleeping bag.

“Well I definitely drew the long straw in this situation.” He says after a minute, his voice a little lower than usual, and she can hear the smile on his lips as he speaks.

She stills, opens her mouth to reply, and then closes it with a snap, because anything she might say to that will inevitably end in a very embarrassing ramble, and there’s only so much humiliation she can take in one day.

He saves her though, when he shifts, trying to make himself more comfortable, and whispers a soft “Goodnight Felicity.”

She mumbles a reply and closes her eyes, she really is quite tired. It was a ridiculously long hike to get here, and it’s just starting to catch up to her. She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep a wink, too afraid of the dark wilderness around them, but with Oliver right next to her, so close that she can feel his every breath, warm against her skin, she feels perfectly safe, and it doesn’t take her long to drift off.

*

She’s startled awake some time later, by Oliver bracing himself over her, a hand clamped over her mouth and muscles coiled. She idly thinks that if anyone else woke her up like that, this would be about the point she started struggling and screaming bloody murder. But it’s Oliver, so she stays still and quiet, trusting his judgment and waiting for his cue.

It takes about a minute for him to relax, and then he’s carefully rolling off her, his rapid breathing slowly starting to abate.

“Sorry. I though I heard something. Are you okay?” He reaches for her in the dark and his hand finds her neck, finger brushing against her pulse.

“I’m fine. What did you hear?” She thinks about turning on the torch, but knows that if something is out there, it’ll only lead them here faster.

“It was probably nothing. Maybe a coyote.” His voice is rough from sleep and she’s momentarily distracted by how good it sounds, before his words sink in.

“ _Probably_  nothing? Are you  _sure_  there aren’t bears here? Because I read this story once about some campers who were attacked by a bear and all that was left was a shoe. Just one shoe, Oliver!”

He lies back down, the air shifting around them as he moves.

“We don’t have bears in this area, Felicity.” He says gently, and she can’t see it, but she knows the corner of his mouth is lifting in that way it does sometimes when he looks at her.

“Mountain lions, yes.” He says after a second, and she sits up straight, her sleeping bag falling to her waist and her eyes widening.

“Mountain lions?” She squeaks, a little louder than she intended.

“Shh.” He finds her hand and tugs her back down beside him. “It’s fine. They’re very shy, they rarely attack humans.”

“Rarely?” She whispers, skeptically.

He huffs out a short laugh and before she can realize what’s happening, he’s wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her into his chest. Her face rests in the crook of his neck, and even through two sleeping bags, she can feel the warmth of his body against hers.

“Go back to sleep. You’ll be fine.” He says softly, and she does, because his arms feel like a shield around her, and a mountain lion would have to go through him first, and he’d fight it off.  Because he’s Oliver, and he’s safe and strong and… Maybe camping isn’t so bad after all.

 

 


	17. coffee politics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: prompt: since felicity won't bring coffee to him he has to get it himself and his sister sees and he has to explain
> 
> This one really is a drabble. I couldn't think of anywhere else to take the prompt, so... Short and hopefully sweet.

Thea finds her brother in the break room at QC, making coffee with the fancy new machine they got a while back. She’s not sure what happened to the old one.

He’s pouring the dark liquid into several cups, muttering under his breath about milk and sugar and who wanted what.

“Don’t you have an assistant for that?”

Oliver looks up at her, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“The coffee.” She explains, smirking slightly as she watches him try and balance four full mugs in his hands.

His lips twitch up in something resembling amusement.

“Yeah, no. If I ask Felicity to get me coffee, something’s likely to get broken. And my bank account would probably take a hit.”

Thea looks at him quizzically, but he doesn’t elaborate. He walks back to his office and she follows, curious eyes settling on his blonde EA.  _Felicity_.

She hides her surprise when he places one of the coffees on her desk.

Felicity gives him a smile, and he responds in kind. And as he disappears into his office for his meeting, Thea wonders, not for the first time, what his motivations were when he ‘promoted’ this particular girl.

 


	18. guilty hearts and weighted shoulders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt: Felicity finds Oliver dozing off in the Foundry. When she tries to wake him up, Oliver gets surprised and jumps into survival!mode, grabbing her a little too roughly. 

She should’ve thought it through. She knows not to wake him suddenly, but the information they’ve been waiting for pops up on her screen and she doesn’t stop to think.  She races to the couch, grabbing his shoulder and calling his name in the same breath. And before she knows what’s happened, she’s on her back on the floor, feeling more than a little disoriented.

His large forearm is pressed against her neck, while his other hand pins both her wrists above her head.

Felicity knows Oliver would never hurt her, not on purpose. But she also knows that he’s not seeing her in that moment, he’s seeing a threat, and she’s not sure how long it will take for his vision to clear.

She blinks up at him, trying to focus on his face even as her lungs start to burn.

“Oliver.” 

His eyes are wild and angry, unclear and slightly glazed, but he hears her. She can see the moment that he recognizes her. His brows twitch down, and there’s a second of hesitation, but just as black spots begin to dance before her eyes, his widen and as quick as he grabbed her, he’s jumping up.

“Felicity.” It sounds pained and breathless and then he’s hovering over her once more. She’s still trying to catch her breath, but his gaze finds hers and the wind’s knocked out of her all over again by the turmoil she sees in his blue orbs.

Soft fingers replace rough hands and he gently touches her neck, assessing the damage.

“I’m fine.” She hurries to assure him, desperate to erase the guilt so visible in his eyes.

“ _Felicity_.” It always amazes her how many words he can fit into those four syllables. Regret, anger, exasperation, concern.

He helps her up, and she gives him a reassuring smile, getting to her feet on slightly shaky legs. He puts some distance between them as soon as she’s standing on her own, as though afraid to even be close to her.

“Wow. Okay. Well that’s one way to end up beneath you I guess.” She mutters before pursing her lips and sighing. “You know what, I’m not even going to apologize for that one. It was begging to be said.” She snickers and runs a hand over her hair, sure she must look more than a little ruffled.

When he doesn’t make a sound, she looks up at him, eyes widening when she takes in the expression on his face. He’s standing a few feet away from her, looking like he wants to stab himself with one of his arrows.

She steps over to him, hand reaching up to his arm, fingers curling into his skin. His muscles quiver beneath her touch.

“Hey. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. It’s my fault okay? You didn’t hurt me. I promise.” She says softly, staring up at him until his eyes meet hers.

“You’re going to have a bruise on your neck.” He rasps.

“Oliver, I’m not that fragile.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes flippantly.

His gaze darkens and his voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“Yes. You are. Felicity I could’ve killed you just now. Do you realize that? I could’ve  _killed_ you.”

She sighs. Her hooded hero. Always piling as much guilt onto those broad shoulders as he possibly can.

“No you couldn’t have.” Her hand finds his jaw, fingers gently scratching against his stubble. “You know why? Because all it took was me saying your name, just once, and you let go. The second you knew it was me, you let go. You’d never hurt me Oliver, you just reacted and no one can blame you for that. Especially not me.”

He takes a second, leaning into her touch, eyes fluttering closed. And then he’s pulling back, reaching for her wrists, that deep frown in place once again.

“Let me see.”

His thumb brushes against her slightly reddened skin, so unbelievably gently, that goosebumps rise on her arms.

“I’ll get you some arnica.” He murmurs finally, carefully lowering her hands back to her sides before disappearing off to find the med kit.

They don’t talk about it again. He applies the cream to her wrists and neck, softly soothing the slight sting. Absolving himself of a mere fraction of the self loathing he feels.

When he’s done, she draws his attention to her computer and he’s all business once more. Face unreadable as he suits up.

There are no bruises the next day and she can see the flicker of relief in his eyes when he looks her over.

And if she notices that he’s extra careful around her for the next week, attentive and protective, she doesn’t mention it.

 

 


	19. Reluctant Words and Sad Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID: Laurel confronting Oliver about the other woman he loves and maybe a chat between laurel and felicity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I don’t know what happened here. I’m sorry! I can’t seem to stop writing Oliver angsting himself into knots.
> 
> (Oh, and the two conversations take place on different nights, just btw in case anyone’s confused!)

She doesn’t bring it up for a long time. Not a long  _long_  time, but just long enough that they’re all starting to move on with the next phase of their lives, and yet  _not_  long enough for him to have it all figured out yet.

He will one day. And that’s not just blind hope speaking, he knows that he will, at some point in the not so distant future, have all the answers that are being demanded of him now.

But the point is, he  _doesn_ 't have them now.

And so, as he stands opposite the woman who has defined his past, a heavy question hanging over their heads, an empty room surrounding them, he doesn’t know what to say. 

It’s a simple question. Do you love  _her_? Four words, four syllables. So why can’t he get the words out? Why can’t he formulate an answer? He does love her, of course. And he knows it vaguely, in some distant, repressed corner of his consciousness.  _Of course_  he loves her. Felicity. Beautiful, kind, warm Felicity.

_Felicity_.

Why wouldn’t he love her?  _How_  couldn’t he love her?

But Laurel’s… Laurel. And she’s looking at him just like she always used to, when he’d come home late, another woman’s perfume clinging to his skin, and she’d ask him for honesty, for a commitment, for a definition. He’d always give it to her, not the honesty part, but the rest, because he couldn’t say no. He told her what she wanted to hear, to take that expression off her face, to make the fight go away, to make things easy again. He told her what she wanted to hear, and he continued to  _do_  the opposite. He carried on lying.

Always lying, so much lying.

He wants to say yes. He wants to put an end to it all. Let the final nail hammer into the coffin that their relationship has become. He wants to move on,  _properly_ this time.

But she’s  _Laurel_. And he’s not sure how  _not_  to love her.

It’s a different sort of love, he can recognize that now. It’s on another level, to this… new feeling he has for a very different girl. It’s a different  _feeling_  entirely. But it’s still there. It’s familiar and it’s been present for  _so_ long. He doesn’t know what he is without it, without her.

And if he says yes… There’s so much more than just Laurel. His entire world will change.  _Their_  entire world will change. Not to mention Felicity herself, what it would mean for her, for  _them_. Because there is a them now, he can at least admit that much. Maybe there’s always been a  _them_. An inevitable, pulsing entity that was always there, thrumming in the background. A  _them_.

Oliver and Felicity.

It sounds good, foreign, new. A part of a future that seems just out of reach.

Oliver and Laurel. Oliver and Laurel. Oliver and Laurel. Familiar, wrought with history, past discretions tallied up on each side, counted by the other until they define all they ever were.

He doesn’t know where they go from here. He doesn’t know if they can ever fix it. He has a feeling, though, that it will never truly be fixed, that it was  _always_  broken, right from the start. But that’s another thing he can’t admit out loud. Because the second he does, there’s no going back. And he’s not ready for that. Not just yet.

The silence drags on until it’s suffocating, the air thick with unspoken words and shared memories.

When he clears his throat it sounds as loud as the crack of a whip, and Laurel jumps slightly, her eyes widening as she awaits her answer.

"I don’t know." His voice is rough and heavy, but most of all,  _tired_.

It’s a cheat. A cop-out. But he can’t say it out loud, not without an excuse to fall back on. An escape route, a back up plan.

It’s too real and too  _right_  and  _he’s not ready_.

But he can’t say no either. The very thought of the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Her eyes drop, falling to the floor in time with her heart.

"Okay." She sounds hushed but steady. He’s glad she’s holding herself together, he’s pretty sure he’s enough of a mess for both of them.

"Do you think you’ll ever know?"

"Yes."

She looks back up at him, and he wonders what she’s hearing in his answer. Was it too fast, too eager? Did it sound as though the word had been waiting on the tip of his tongue since her last question, dying to slip out?

When she blinks back a sheen of tears and offers him a sad smile he thinks it probably did.

"Goodnight, Ollie."

He doesn’t try to stop her, doesn’t even turn to watch her leave. It feels more permanent than it should.

He spends the night taking his frustration out on a training dummy, until his knuckles are raw and bleeding and his muscles ache.

* * *

"He’s different with you."

The statement catches Felicity off guard and she turns, spinning in her chair, feet just brushing the floor, until she can see the other woman.

"Sorry?"

"Oliver. He listens to you."

They’re alone in the lair. The boys all out on a mission, comms connected and muted.

"Yeah well. He knows I can find all those embarrassing videos of his college days and upload them to youtube if he annoys me too much." She goes for cheerful, trying to counter the melancholic vibe she’s getting from Laurel.

She receives a small, slightly insincere smile in return.

"No, it’s not that. He’s just… He’s just  _different_  with you.” She breathes the words, like a sigh, eyes closing against whatever emotion she’s feeling.

Felicity’s not sure what she can say in response. She feels like she’s being accused of something, she just doesn’t know what.

"I don’t-"

"It’s okay. It’s nothing." Laurel cuts her off before she can get any words out. "I’m just being…" She shakes it off, putting those familiar shields back across her eyes. Her perfect composure falling into place as though it was never gone.

"I’m sorry. Goodnight."

Felicity turns to watch as she leaves, a furrow settling on her brow. She’s not entirely sure what just happened, but it feels like it was something big. Something significant.

Filing it away to over-think later, she slips her comm back in her ear, un-mutes it, and starts directing Oliver on the best course of action to get him home in one piece.

 

 

 


	20. team badass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID: Felicity/Diggle friendship: They talk after Oliver loses his company about the fact that they are both now basically unemployed.

"I was offered a job as showgirl once." Felicity murmurs absently.

"A showgirl? Really?" Diggle’s expression is comical and she grins.

"Yep. Back in Vegas, the second I turned eighteen."

"Well unless you plan on abandoning us and heading back to the desert, I think you should stick to computers."

"Can you imagine Oliver’s face if I told him I was becoming a showgirl?" She laughs, head falling back in mirth as she pictures his horrified look.

Digg snorts at the thought, face lighting up as he grins. “He’d probably have an aneurism.”

Felicity giggles, wiping her eyes and leaning back in the sofa, feet kicking up onto her coffee table.

"It shouldn’t be too hard for me to get an IT job somewhere." She picks at the corner of a cushion, frowning as she tries to remember which companies offered her positions when she left MIT. "Despite what most people at QC thought, I’m actually very qualified."

"You’ll do fine, Felicity. And hey, no more being a secretary! That’s got to be a relief."

She shrugs, days spent in the office with Oliver filtering through her memory.

"It wasn’t so bad."

Digg gives her a knowing look that she elects to ignore.

"So what about you? Any prospects? Going back to babysitting the rich and bored? The real rich and bored I mean… Not, you know… Oliver."

"Yeah. I guess."

They sit in silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

"He’ll get it back." Felicity says finally, sounding confident and sure.

Digg turns to look at her, an eyebrow raised and a slight smile on his face.

"You think?"

"He’s Oliver. He’ll figure it out. Or, well, we’ll help him. And we’re pretty badass." She grins, holding up her fist for him to bump. He laughs but obliges, rolling his eyes when she does an exaggerated explosion gesture with her hand afterwards.

"We are pretty badass."

 

 

 


	21. dusty cities and painful memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID: Team Arrow is in Vegas for some reason, and Digg, Roy, and Oliver learn are taken aback at Felicity's familiarity with the place, the people, and the activities. (I feel kinda guilty sending this cuz I know u have tons of prompts to fill, but i really wanna see a Vegas Smoak fic :))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that I am a born and raised California girl was very beneficial for this. As was the fact that I lived in Vegas for a year when I was fourteen. So all the descriptions and stuff are based off my own experiences.
> 
> Also this took a really angsty turn, I’m sorry! I don’t think this is quite what you wanted, but it just happened and now I’ve got a bad case of Felicity feels!

Felicity’s first response when she learned that they had to travel to Vegas for a case, was to bury her head in her hands and groan out loud. Because really, why of all places did it have to be there?

People never understand why she can’t stand the city. Whenever they hear that she grew up in ‘America’s Playground’, they gush about how exciting and glamorous it all must have been, the lights, the clubs, the shows. But her memories of it are a little different, as anyone who spends longer than a week or so there knows, the glamor fades very quickly. In the light of day, with no neon to hide the imperfections, everything looks the dusty gray it actually is. Tattered buildings, bungalows, crime-ridden streets and drunken vagrants. It’s a dirty place really; men on the sidewalk handing out flyers for brothels, drug deals behind casinos, metal detectors at school, kids in gangs.

That’s the Vegas she grew up in.

She’s barely visited since she left, at eighteen with a ticket to Massachusetts and the prospect of a whole different future ahead of her. But as with anyone, it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been away, your hometown will always be burned into your memory. Complete with all the shortcuts and secrets that only the locals will ever know.

 

They drive there, something she’s done on more than one occasion. It’s not long in a car from California, five or six hours. But she rolls her eyes when Digg pulls out a map and starts calculating routes and distances. She knows the road by heart.

They let her sit in the front and navigate, and she finds she enjoys knowing things they don’t. They’ve both been to Vegas before of course, but briefly, as visitors, Digg on business a couple of times and Oliver for more than one hazy weekend spent blowing obscene amounts of money.

She points out the landmarks as they pass, the ghost towns she used to be obsessed with when she was younger, that one section of road where the turn-offs are all named after fruit. She insists they stop at the diner with the best pancakes in the country (the boys scoff and roll their eyes, but admit defeat when they try them), she makes Digg lock the car doors and drive a little faster when they pass through that patch of open desert that always scared her so much, where they found all those bodies a while back.

She grows more and more agitated as they draw closer to the city, picking at her nails and fiddling with her glasses. She hasn’t been back for a long time, and that ache of familiarity settles in her chest as they approach the rambling suburbs. They’re not far from her old neighborhood and she doesn’t notice that her hand is clutching the edge of her seat so tight that her knuckles have turned white, until she feels Oliver’s reach forward and pry it loose. He laces their fingers together and she relaxes a little, the warmth of his hand surrounding hers, grounding her.

They’re arriving in the daytime, and she can tell that neither Digg or Oliver have spent much time in Vegas during the sunny hours. Their eyes widen at the sheer desolateness of their surroundings, the bleak feel of the buildings without the lights to hide the cracking paint.

There’s a traffic jam on Main Street, as usual, and Felicity directs them through a shortcut she used to take almost every day, back when she was a sixteen year old kid with a brand new license and an ancient old Toyota. 

They’re not staying at one of the famous hotels, Caesar’s Palace or The Bellagio, it would draw too much attention and they’re trying to be inconspicuous. But they’re also not staying in one of the awful little motels, where there are working girls hanging around outside and you have to turn the volume on your TV up to full to drown out the varying unfavorable sounds. She’s booked them into one of the few regular, middle class hotels, just far enough away from the Strip to be slightly more respectable, and close enough to the center to be within walking distance.

They’re in separate rooms, because she’s not about to suffer through that particular cliché, but they all end up in Oliver’s anyway, detailing their plan of action for the following night. Their mark is a weapons dealer who’s been buying from someone in Vegas and transporting the goods to sell in Starling. The number of gun related crimes in Starling City have gone up exponentially since the he showed up and Oliver’s had enough. Catching the one guy won’t be effective though, as the dealer would merely find someone else, so he decided to go to the source, which is why they’re in Felicity’s hometown in the first place.

They all look uncomfortable as they go over her part in the mission. Felicity, because dressing up as a card dealer is hitting just a little too close to home, Digg in big-brother mode, and Oliver in that silent, broody way of his. But she’s agreed to it, it was her idea in fact, and she’s not going to back down now.

It’s all worth it anyway, when she steps out of her room the next day, all dolled up in her skimpy ensemble, and watches Oliver’s eyes widen comically. His awkward throat clearing and fidgeting fingers are pretty hilarious too. She files it all away to think about on a rainy day, and smiles sweetly up at him, hooking her arm through his as they head for the stairs. It’s really just because she’s wearing ridiculously tall heels and it’s a spiral staircase, but when he makes no move to step away from her when they reach the exit, she doesn’t complain.

The mission goes as planned for once. Barely a hitch as she pockets the targets’ phone, transferring all the data they need before slipping it back, unnoticed. She then un-codes the text they knew they’d find, and Oliver interrupts the deal, leaving the perpetrators bound and gagged before calling the police.

It all goes so smoothly, in fact, that she’s almost waiting for something to go wrong. And it does of course, because life is never quite that easy.

She’s walking across the Casino floor, head down, avoiding attention just as she always used to when she was in these places as a kid. Oliver and Digg are waiting for her in the car out back, it’s best that Oliver not be seen in the city the same night the vigilante makes an appearance, so they can’t come in and get her. Which would’ve all been fine, if she hadn’t run into the one person she’s spent the entire trip praying she wouldn’t see.

It’s horribly sad really, that she’d do anything to avoid seeing her own mother.

Oliver had asked her if she’d like to take a couple of days off to visit her when they’d finished to mission, but she’d quickly refused. Their estrangement has spanned a few years now, and it still hurts every time she thinks about it. They had their problems when she was growing up, but her mother was the only person who had ever stayed, they only ever had each other. It was Felicity’s choice to leave, to go looking for a brighter future, something bigger and better, far away from this city of broken dreams, that ultimately ripped them apart. Most mothers would be happy that their daughter had a chance at a better life, but not hers. They’d barely spoken since. Birthday cards were sent, sometimes with the occasional update on how life was going, but nothing more.

And now here she is, standing not two feet away, looking exactly as Felicity remembers, just like everything else in this town.

“Mom?” The word is broken and quiet, and she can vaguely hear the twin reactions of surprise through the comm. link still in her ear.

The woman in question is staring at her with a look of shock that’s quickly melting into hurt anger even as she watches.

Felicity pulls her coat tighter around her, thankful for its ability to hide her outfit, because that’s something she’d never be able to explain. She takes a step closer, a chasm opening in her chest, full of everything that’s been left unsaid between them, every mistake that’s been made. Because despite all of that, this is the woman who raised her, who braided her hair and tied her shoes, who stormed into school and yelled at the principle when she came home crying, the woman who, unlike everyone else, never left her, who worked three jobs to support them, and bought her Hershey’s Kisses after every time they fought. 

She’s her mom.

Their eyes meet, and there’s a moment where everything stills, and Felicity finds herself holding her breath. Because maybe, this, right here, could be their chance to fix it, to move forward.

But then her mother’s eyes fall, her mouth settling into that familiar, hard line, and she’s turning away, disappearing into the crowds without a word.

Felicity bursts into tears, right there, in the middle of a casino floor, with people thronging all around her and a live comm. link in her ear.

She feels like a little girl again, desperate for her mother’s approval, terrified that one day she’ll leave her too, just like her dad. Surrounded by the bright lights and sounds of slot machines and drunken laughter, dangerous men and judgmental girls. It’s the world she grew up in, and it’s the feelings she grew up with, and it all washes over her at once. Everything she buried when she left, hitting her like a freight train until her tears are falling so fast she can’t see, and her legs feel unsteady beneath her.

A hand closes around her elbow and she gasps, jerking away, panic settling in until Digg’s calm voice catches her ears. He guides her away, through the crowds and out into the chilly night. She’s not really aware of much, still crying so hard that she can hardly take a breath. But then she’s being pushed into the backseat of a car and a different pair of arms are closing around her.

He smells like leather and sandalwood, and his scruff tickles her forehead as he holds her close. He’s saying something, she’s not sure what, but the soft words are soothing and she closes her eyes, her sobs gradually slowing until they finally cease.

Their bags are already in the car, prepared for a quick getaway if required. And so they drive, leaving the city behind, the sprawling eyesore of dust and neon disappearing into the desert.

Felicity stays in Oliver’s embrace, a hand stroking up and down her back, his chin resting on the top of her head. Digg puts on the radio, singing along under his breath to an old rock song. And she smiles, the gesture hidden against Oliver’s chest, it’s a weak smile, her eyes and throat still scratchy from crying, but the hole in her chest closes a little, the pain rescinding once more. Because Las Vegas may be where she grew up, but it’s not her home. This is, the three of them, a team, a mission, a family.

They’re her home. And she’s theirs.

 

 

 


	22. domestic bliss (and other cheesy thoughts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID: could you write some domestic, established fluff! like with the whole family, moira and thea and everyone? thank you :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this takes place in a crack!verse where everyone’s happy and they all love each other and it’s a big cozy family. Also, nobody’s dead and nobody ran off with any crazy villains. Told you it was crack!

Sometimes Oliver finds himself wondering what he did to deserve what he has now. With all those years spent in darkness, he never imagined he’d get to have this side of life.

He walks into their house, locking the door behind him and throwing his keys into the bowl nearby. The smell of homemade food and the sound of laughter permeate the air and a feeling of contentment settles in his chest. He moves through the hall, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen, eyes settling on Felicity, sitting on the kitchen counter, her hair loose around her shoulders. She’s talking quickly, hands waving around, feet kicking against the cupboards.

It always catches him off guard, how much he loves her. He’ll see her doing something so completely ordinary, and his heart will skip a beat and he’ll be overwhelmed with sheer adoration for every aspect of her. Usually when that happens, he grabs her and takes her to bed, showing her just how much he adores her for hours and hours. But he can’t do that tonight, because it’s family night and she’s chatting to his sister as they make beef ragout.

Moira’s sitting at the table, talking to a slightly uncomfortable looking Roy, both of them banned from helping with the cooking after one too many bad experiences.

Thea’s stirring a pot on the stove, one of Felicity’s aprons wrapped tightly around her, protecting her clothes. They’re talking about a movie, or a TV show, from what he can gather. And that’s another thing that always hits him square in the chest in the best way, seeing them together, Felicity and Thea. The fact that the two most important people in his life get on like a house on fire, makes him happier than he ever expected it could. They gang up on him sometimes, a lot actually, and their combined puppy dog eyes can get him to agree to just about anything, but it’s worth it. Thea looks up to Felicity like a big sister, and follows her by example, going  to her for advice and comfort, and it’s just another thing to add to the list of reasons why Felicity Smoak is perfect for him.

He hangs back for a few minutes longer, just taking in the comforting familiarity of the scene. He knows Felicity knows he’s there, she always seems to be able to tell when he’s around, even if he hasn’t made a sound, but she doesn’t react, letting him have his moment. And when he does makes his presence known, walking up to them and stealing a bit of the cheese she’s grating, she smiles, looking up at him with shiny eyes that make his chest squeeze all over again. He kisses her, lightly, chastely, brushing his lips against hers, and they share a secret look, a promise of later.

Thea rolls her eyes and tells him to start laying the table, which he does, greeting his mother and Roy in the process and briefly joining their conversation about building conservation trusts.

He doesn’t remember when this tradition started, every Sunday night set aside for dinner together. But he’s glad they do it. They’ve all had their differences in the past, trials and tribulations to overcome, but they’re family, and somehow, despite all odds, they’ve managed to stay together.

When Digg and Lyla arrive a few minutes later, and they sit around the table, helping themselves to food, conversation and laughter flowing naturally, he doesn’t think life could possibly get any better than this, right here.

Felicity proves him wrong of course, later when everyone’s left. She’s snuggled into his side in bed, his arm looped around her back, fingers gently stroking up and down her spine. She whispers the words into his skin, so quietly he almost doesn’t catch them.

“I’m pregnant.”

He sits up, eyes wide as he looks at her. Her smile is half nervous, half excited, her cheeks still flushed from their earlier activities, her lips swollen from his kisses, and he doesn’t think he’s ever loved her more than he does in that moment.

His answering smile is so big it actually hurts and as he gathers her into his arms, he thinks that this is definitely one of those moments when he doesn’t know what he did to deserve all of this.


	23. misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID: prompt: oliver tries to tell felicity that he loves her and she's like okay sure you do

It takes him thirteen months to say those words again. Another year of fighting for the city, Felicity by his side through it all. The light in his darkness.

He figured it out a few months ago. In fact, he thinks he probably knew  all along, right from the beginning. But it was buried under so many layers of denial that it took some time to unearth. He did unearth it though, and then it was,  _is_  all he can think about.

Every little thing about her, he can’t look away from. Every quirk, every gesture, every expression. He used to find them endearing, and he still does, but now they’re  _precious_. To be preserved and committed to memory. Little pieces of her he can collect and keep.

She makes him smile on his worst days, and he doesn’t know how it took him so long to figure it out. Now it’s all he knows. He doesn’t even remember what it was like to  _not_  love Felicity. The thought seems completely incongruous in his world.

So, when he finally summons up the courage to tell her, he expects a little more fanfare, a little more  _world shifting on its axis_  and all sort of cheesy stuff, than the reception he actually receives. 

It’s a Friday night and they’re the last two in the lair. She’s engrossed in something on her computers, sitting on her chair with her feet tucked up under her, shoes discarded under the desk. Her hair is loose of its normal ponytail and falls prettily over her shoulders, her glasses keep slipping down her nose.

He thinks he could probably spend forever watching her. Every little detail is as fascinating as the last. And that’s when he knows he has to tell her. Because he doesn’t ever want to look away from her, and he doesn’t remember ever feeling that way about a woman before. More often than not, the problem in his past relationships,  _was_  his wandering eye. But not with her. It would be different with her. And all he has to do is give it a chance.

So he tells her. Out of the blue, with no lead up, no context. In all his typical bluntness, he walks up to her, spins her chair around so she faces him and says it. Those three words that carry the weight of the world. Three words he’s never meant more than in that moment.

He’s not sure  _what_  he expects really, he didn’t exactly think that far ahead. But the little smile she gives him, eyes warm and unsurprised, complete with her casual; “Yeah, you too.” Is definitely not it.

She turns back to her screens, as though nothing happened, as though he didn’t just admitt something completely life changing. As though she hadn’t said it back, like it was no more important than the time of day.

"Felicity." He exclaims, confusion and exasperation seeping into his voice as he spins her back around.

"What, Oliver?" She sounds slightly irritated now and her eyebrows raise expectantly.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes." She frowns, looking at him with concern, as though worried for his health.

"I told you I love you."

"Yeah, so?"

He stares at her blankly for a second.

“You said you did too.”

“Of course I love you Oliver. You’re one of my closest friends. It’s really not a big deal, I mean I love Digg as well. And Roy. Most of the time.”

A slow smile spreads across his face because of course she would take their first real non-platonic moment, and read absolutely nothing but friendship into it.

He takes a deep breath, centering his thoughts, because he could still back out, she’s given him the opportunity; he doesn’t have to go through with it. But he does, because he  _needs_  her to know. Like he needs air to breathe, he needs Felicity for everything else, and she deserves to know that.

"No, Felicity. I  _love_  you.” He repeats, stressing the key word, injecting it with as much meaning as he can. Her eyes lift to his and widen behind her glasses.

"Oh. You mean like…?"

"Yeah." He nods slowly, watching her face, taking in every minute change in expression.

"Are you sure?" She’s frowning, looking so uncertain and confused, and it’s quite possibly the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

“Um. Pretty sure, yes.” He replies, slightly amused.

She looks at him hesitantly, her cheeks a little flushed.

“So what does… What does that mean?”

He crouches down in front of her, knees resting on the concrete floor, bringing him to roughly her height.

“Well…” His mouth goes dry again and he swallows, his hands feeling clammy like he’s a teenager talking to his crush. It’s pathetic really. “It means that I would really like to kiss you, if that’s okay?”

She still looks like she’s not quite sure what’s happening, but her eyes are shiny and her hands are trembling slightly when he takes them in his. She holds his gaze for a moment that seems to stretch for an age, before she gives the barest of nods, eyes never leaving his. It’s all the invitation he needs.

He leans forward, fingers threading through hers, eyes dropping to her perfect pink lipstick, that fuchsia that’s had such a key role in so many of his fantasies.

In the end, she’s the one to close the distance between them, and he keeps his eyes open just long enough to watch hers flutter closed. And then her lips are pressing against his and everything else fades away.

She tastes like summer. Warm and sweet and full of hope. It’s a cliché, it’s all such a cliché but he can’t bring himself to care. Because he’s kissing Felicity, beautiful, lovely Felicity. And his whole body seems to relax, almost in relief, because…  _finally_.

His tongue traces along her lower lip, tasting the fruity taste of the gloss, and when she opens her mouth, granting him access and tangling her tongue with his, it’s the most heavenly thing he’s ever experienced.

He’d never been that into kissing in the past, he’d liked it well enough, but was usually just impatient to get to the other stuff. But this,  _she_  is a whole new experience, a whole new realm, and he thinks he could spend the rest of his life kissing Felicity Smoak and he’d die a happy man.

When they finally have to break away to breathe, he moves back to look at her, taking in the way her eyes are sparkling, the delicate flush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck, her swollen lips, a little bit of pink smudged to the side. She’s so beautiful that it almost hurts him to look directly at her.

One of her hands untangles from his and she brings it up to rest against his jaw, fingers scratching lightly at his stubble, a look resembling awe on her face. He wonders if she’s having similar thoughts as him.

When he speaks, his voice is rough and scratchy, several octaves lower than it usually is. “Does this change your answer?” He asks quietly.

She looks confused for a second before realization washes over her, followed by a broad smile, transforming her face and making his heart lurch in his chest.

“No. It doesn’t change my answer.” She takes a deep breath, bringing her other hand up so she’s cupping his face, drawing him closer still, so they’re breathing the same air. “I love you too, Oliver.”  

And then he’s kissing her again, and her arms are snaking around his neck, drawing him closer and his hands are dropping to her waist, lifting her easily and pulling her into him.

He ends up sitting on the floor in the lair, with Felicity, warm, pliant Felicity, in his lap, and he’s pretty sure he died at some point and somehow ended up in heaven.

They’re making out like teenagers when Digg and Roy walk in. They don’t even bother looking up, and the door slams shut a few seconds later.

Team Arrow’s taking a day off.

 

 

 


	24. of pregnancy tests and proclamations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> twaslifeandilivedit asked: Idk if you have one like this but... Olicity pregnancy scare after a drunk one night stand/before they've admitted their feelings for each other!

"What happens if it’s positive?" Her voice wavers slightly and she stares resolutely at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

They’re sitting in her bathroom, her on the floor, leaning against the tub, him on the closed toilet lid, a pregnancy test lying conspicuously between them.

He’d been so calm when she’d told him of the possibility, going with her to buy the tests, before coming home with her so they could find out the results together. But they hadn’t discussed what they’ll do if she actually is pregnant.

It was just one night. One great night, but one night nonetheless. And then life caught up to them with a case and it was all back to business as usual, no time for anything in between. He’s kissed her once since, leaning over her chair and pecking her lips quickly before he left the lair one evening. But she wrote it off as a one-time anomaly.

And now, over a week later, the only time they’ve acknowledged what happened between them was when she stood before him, shaking and pale and blurted out that her period was five days late.

"It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world you know." He murmurs, interrupting her thoughts. How it’s possible that she can actually ramble when she thinks, she’s not entirely sure.

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and when they do, she looks up at him in surprise. Because that’s definitely not what she expected him to say. She was waiting for 'because of the life I lead…' or something along those lines.

"What wouldn’t?" She asks, sounding small and unsure even to her own ears.

"Us having a baby." His voice is gentle, and his eyes flick from hers to her stomach.

Her heart’s beating so fast she feels a little dizzy and there are butterflies in her tummy that are definitely because of him and not the nausea she’s been feeling these last couple of days. Because she’s standing in her bathroom discussing having a baby with Oliver Queen and he’s not angry with her or distancing himself from her, he’s right there, calm and supportive and it’s more than she ever expected.

"Really?" It comes out a little strangled, a lump forming quickly in her throat.

"Well yeah. I mean, I’ve never really put much thought into starting a family, I sort of just assumed it was something I’d never get to have… And I know that we’re not ready right now and this is way too soon but-"

"It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world?"

"Yeah."

She lets herself imagine it for a second. A little baby, their baby. Her’s and Oliver’s. A family.

She clears her throat, blinking back tears, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with emotion.

"I thought you’d freak out more. I mean, you’re way calmer than me, I’m freaking out.” She says after a moment, chuckling shortly, her hand falling to rest against her flat stomach of its own accord.

"Why did you think I’d freak out?" His voice is rough and she wonders if he’s feeling just as emotional as she is.

"Well because you’re a guy and we’re… It was just one time and I wasn’t sure if you even…" Her eyes fall back to the floor and she takes a deep breath, steadying herself.

It’s not that she doesn’t know how much Oliver cares for her. She knows she’s important to him, but caring about someone’s well being and wanting to be in a relationship with them are very different things. And before last week and that night, he’d never seemed to show any signs of wanting her like that. Not that she’d been aware of anyway. And now it’s gone from zero to sixty so quickly she feels a little left behind. She’s not sure where they stand and the ground is unsteady beneath her feet.

"Felicity." He moves to kneel beside her on the floor, his fingers settling under her chin, tilting her head up until their eyes meet. There’s a look on his face that she’s only seen once before, on that night. It’s a soft expression that she can’t really decipher.

“You’re the only woman I’d want to have babies with.”

Her eyes widen in surprise, the sincerity on his face hitting her square in the chest. Her stomach swoops deliciously and before she’s had a chance to try and formulate a reply, his lips are on hers.

His hand, still under her chin, angles her face just right before moving down to settle against her neck, thumb gently stroking across her jaw.

This kiss is soft, tender, nothing like the heated, desperate kisses they shared last time. There’s no goal in mind, no rush to tear each others clothes off, just a closeness and warmth, that somehow seems much more intimate than anything they’ve done before.

It’s the beeping of the timer that finally breaks them apart. He pulls back an inch or so, his eyes holding hers, crystalline orbs shining with emotion. Her breath stutters in her throat, because he’s even more beautiful up close and she never imagined he’d look at her like that.

"You ready?" His voice is soft and his breath fans against her face.

"No."

He smiles slightly, pressing one last lingering kiss to her lips before moving to sit beside her, back against the tub. His hand entwines with hers where it rests on her knee and for the first time since since she realized she was late, she knows for sure that whatever happens, they’re going to be fine.

She smiles up at him, squeezing his fingers, and they both take a deep breath before she picks up the test.


	25. fragile love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: I dont know if you are still taking prompts for fic's but i have one if you still are..Olicity: After the slade ordeal oliver and felicity are alone in the new foundry. They tip toe around the "i love you" thing again. And they kiss(a soft gentle kiss).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another post finale Oliver POV! I seem to gravitate to writing from his POV instead of Felicity's? Which is weird because in the past I've always been more drawn to writing the woman.

He’d avoided being alone with her. Or tried to at least. It sounded harsh, and he knew she’d noticed, knew it had hurt her feelings, but he needed time to reconcile himself with the way he felt.

Out of the two of them, he would have put money on Felicity being the one to be most affected by those three words falling from his lips. But it’s him who can’t breathe when he looks at her, him who’s heart pounds a staccato rhythm when she smiles.

He hadn’t thought it would mean as much as it did. He’d always known he cared for Felicity, perhaps since that first day he’d met her. But it wasn’t until he stood before her, three syllables falling like shattered glass in a silent room, that he felt the shift.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it before. Him and Felicity,  _together_. She’s beautiful, funny, charming, the sort of girl you want to end up with at the end of the story. But he hadn’t entertained the thoughts further than a fleeting fantasy here and there, something impossible and ridiculous that would be nice in a different life.

But then he was telling her he loved her, taking in her surprised little expression, the way her eyes widened, the way her cute lips fell open. And there it was, this feeling in his chest that hasn’t gone away since. An aching desire to have that fantasy, that crazy  _impossible_  idea of  _them,_ become a reality. 

It wasn’t until he said he loved her, that he realized how true the sentiment is. He  _does_  love her. In every meaning of the word. So he avoided her. Because that’s what he does. Tucks emotions he can’t handle away in a vault to deal with at some later date, if ever. 

Which is why, on a Thursday night in their new  _lair_  as Felicity keeps calling it, the careful house of cards he’s built since that day weeks ago, comes crumbling down.

Because she’s babbling about some new code language that’s apparently all the rage, and her nails are painted the color of the sky and she’s wearing a red dress and he’s filled with such affection,  _adoration,_  for her that it’s overwhelming.

"Are you even listening to me?"

His eyes snap up from where they’ve been resting on her pink lips and he offers her an apologetic smile.

"Yeah, sorry. I just… got distracted."

"Do you understand what this means? This is revolutionary, Oliver.  _Revolutionary_!”

He’s pretty sure she’s still talking about the hacking thing. Most of it’s going over his head anyway, her tech jargon sounding like double dutch for all he’s understanding. But she’s so passionate about it, waving her hands around and barely pausing for breath, that she could be speaking in archaic Latin and he’d still find it entertaining.

Which is exactly why he didn’t want to be alone with her. Because she’s so much harder to ignore when it’s just the two of them. She’s impossible to ignore, ever actually, but his  _feelings_  are easier to handle when there’s a buffer between them. He knows that his willpower is hanging by a thread, has been for a while, and all it will take is—

She giggles, her nose scrunching up and her eyes dancing. He’s not sure why she’s laughing, all he can really think about is how  _pretty_  she is.

He could walk away, turn his back and close the door between them, shutting her out before he does something he might regret. But he doesn’t. Because he can’t for the life of him find the resolve to remove himself from the shiny bubble that surrounds her. She’s warm and light and despite everything,  _happy. A_ nd all he wants is to soak in as much of her as he can, like a man who’s lived a life-long winter, feeling the sun on his back for the first time.

For someone who takes pride in his self control, he isn’t doing a very good job of staying away from her. He’s not sure he cares.

"Felicity."

She pauses at his interruption, hands stilling midair and eyebrows raising as her eyes meet his.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he steps forward, closing the distance between them until he can feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own. She doesn’t move back, and he likes that she’s never been intimidated by him, standing proud in all her five-foot-four glory, confident that he would never hurt her.

She’s looking up at him curiously, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

He ducks head slowly, watching every minute expression on her face, pausing when they’re breathing the same air, the moment charged and precarious.

After a second, he leans down further still, and she tilts her face up slightly until his lips are hovering mere millimeters from hers. She breathes out sharply and he feels it warm against his skin. She smells like mint and jasmine, and he can see every freckle on her nose.

There’s hesitation still, as he searches her eyes, looking for any signs of reluctance. And then finally, slowly, carefully, his lips brush hers.

It’s just a caress really, and then another. The room is silent and still, the only sounds their gentle breathing and the beat of his heart loud in his ears. The moment stretches like a lifetime, neither missing the significance of what’s happening, neither sure of the next step to take.

"Is this a trick?" She whispers the words against his lips, so quietly he almost doesn’t hear her.

"No." His reply is fast and sure, and then he’s kissing her. A hand reaching for her waist, pulling her gently forward until she’s pressed against him, while the other moves to cup her face, thumb brushing against the curve of her cheek.

He kisses her softly, slowly, filling it with all the emotions he can’t find the words to say. All the things he wants to tell her, all the promises he wants to make, coming down to the gentle movement of his lips against hers.

It’s perfect.  _She’s_  perfect. And all the reasons he has for staying away from her, while still valid and still a concern, melt into the background where they belong. Because he doesn’t think that anything will ever be quite as important as  _this_ , the taste of her on his tongue, the warmth of her skin beneath his hands.

He’ll figure the rest out later.

 

 


	26. platonic showers and friendly hair washing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> true-love-is-yellow asked: Hi, I don't know if your still taking prompts...but here's mine anyway. "Oliver and Felicity get sprayed with some kind of skin irritant (chemical, anything, could be pepper spray) and they have to wash it off immediately so they jump in the shower together." (kinda based off Chuck and Sara's scene from Chuck) THANKS!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure why I randomly wrote this in a different tense to usual. It just kind of came out. Weird.

They stumbled down the steps into the lair, Felicity’s heart beating erratically, Oliver’s hand firm around her arm the only thing keeping her from tripping in their haste.

“Shower. Now.” He ground out, practically dragging her towards the bathroom, two of her strides matching one of his.

Her skin was itching and she found herself grumbling under her breath about _stupid super-villains_ , and _really, what kind of a person has a bio-hazardous chemical just lying around?_

The slamming of the bathroom door behind them distracted her and she was suddenly faced with the very imminent reality of having to shower _with_ _Oliver_. They’d had the substance on their skin for far too long already, she wasn’t about to suggest he wait outside like a gentlemen while they took turns. She wasn’t positive what the chemical was, but she had an inkling, and if it was what she suspected it was, prolonged exposure would result in respiratory problems and possible cardiac arrest. Definitely no time for carefully enforced boundaries.

Platonic showering together was totally a thing, right?

She carefully took her shoes off, vaguely aware of Oliver shrugging out of his jacket and pulling his t-shirt over his head. She glanced up and let out a short squeak of surprise as he began to pull off his leather pants, quickly turning her back and covering her eyes with her hands.

“Felicity. You’re going to have to get over your modesty.”

The steady sound of the shower started and she took a deep breath, fingers shaky as they began to fumble with the buttons of her blouse.

“Yeah. Okay. That’s fine. We’ll just keep our underwear on and… It’s totally fine to see your co-worker in their underwear if it’s a matter of life or death. Right? Yeah, totally fine. No big deal. Just you know… showering together. For emergencies sake.”

“Felicity.”

“Yep. Yeah. Okay.”

She huffed in irritation as one of the little buttons slipped out of her grasp, her nerves getting the better of her and impairing her fine motor skills. She wasn’t sure if she was more anxious about the potentially life threatening powder currently coating her skin or the fact that Oliver was about to see her naked. Well not _completely_ naked but close enough.

She startled when his hands grabbed her shoulders, spinning around to face him. His eyes met hers for a moment, a flash of regret and concern visible in his blue orbs before he was batting her hands away and quickly pulling her shirt over her head.

“I’m sorry. You’re turning red.” He nodded towards her forearm and she glanced down to see an angry rash growing across her pale skin. A spike of fear threaded through her, effectively distracting her from what he was doing.

He pulled down the zipper on her skirt, knuckles brushing against the curve of her behind and causing her cheeks to turn the same shade as her arm.

She held onto his shoulders as she stepped out of the garment, legs feeling unsteady beneath her. And then he was helping her into the shower stall, pushing her under the warm spray before stepping in behind her, hands quick and sure on her skin, scrubbing the fine, white substance off her, goosebumps rising wherever he touched.

She snapped to life when his fingers swept over her hips and down to her thighs, taking a careful step back, she grabbed his wrist and met his eyes.

“I got it.”

He nodded and began to hastily wash himself as she did the same, trying not to get distracted by the expanse of skin he was displaying, muscles corded and bunched with tension. Her eyes dropped to his black boxer briefs before she could stop them, her stomach swooping slightly as she took in the deep v of his hips and the trail of dark hair that led down behind the material. She blushed heavily and looked up, catching his eye and quickly averting her gaze as he gave her a knowing look.

Focusing back on her task she made sure there were no more traces of the toxin on her skin before starting on her hair. She dipped her head back, eyes falling closed as she let the warm water run over her heated face, forgetting for a moment that he was there. Gentle fingers carding across her skull made her jump and she attempted to turn around to see him, but his hands held her in place.

“Shh, let me help.” His voice was rough, an octave lower than usual.

But his fingers were sure as they dragged through the long strands, and she felt herself sighing softly, leaning back against him as he worked, the gentle ministrations soothing.

She forgot about the awkwardness of the situation, about the fact that they were there because they had a deadly chemical coating their skin, about the fact that her pale pink panties were probably completely see-through at this point. Instead focusing on the warmth of his body behind hers, the tenderness in his touch, the way she felt tiny beside him without her heels.

She heard the click of a plastic bottle and then his fingers were moving in steady circles, massaging shampoo into her scalp, tipping her head back slightly more to protect her eyes.

She moaned softly at the sensation and felt him still behind her for a second before he continued his task. Time drifted a little as he rinsed the soap out, replacing it with conditioner and tangling her hair around his fingers as he worked it in.

The familiarity of the moment, the ease with which he touched her, made her heart ache. She let herself imagine, for just a fleeting second, the way it could be if they had this. _Them_. The warmth and simplicity that seemed to settle in when they were alone, everything around them fading into the background because they could be _real_ with each other. Let down walls and parapets and just be in the moment.

His hands finally fell from her hair and she realized that he’d finished without her noticing. She turned slowly, feeling even more unsteady than she was before, the intimacy they’d just shared still thrumming through her veins.

His eyes were dark when they met hers, and a tiny bit sad. She offered him a small smile, which he returned, the corners of his mouth twitching up just a little, before he was reaching out to turn the water off, and handing her a towel before stepping away.  

She wrapped the material around her body, wringing her hair out and trying to get a rein on her emotions.

“I’ll go find something for you to wear. And then we’ll take a look at your arm, okay?”

She nodded her assent and he moved to leave, his eyes cutting over her figure once before turning away.

“Oliver?” He looked back at her, his face unreadable. “Thanks.” For protecting her, taking care of her. She left the words unsaid but she knew he understood. He tipped his head forward slightly in acknowledgement and then he was gone, leaving her alone in a steamy bathroom with an erratically beating heart and a suddenly overactive imagination.


	27. of babies and hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:  
> Felicity offers to babysit Diggle and Lyla's baby, and Oliver shows up at her place alleging he wants to help her out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up kind of angsty. I think I’m incapable of writing fluff??? (Also I know I deviated from the prompt slightly. Sorry!)

He’s not sure why he ends up at Digg’s apartment. The team are taking the night off and Oliver had every intention of going home and trying to get some much needed sleep. But here he is, standing outside his friend’s building, debating whether or not to go inside.

Felicity’s smile when Diggle had asked her if she wanted to babysit is stuck on a loop in his brain. The sheer delight that spread across her face, lighting up every corner of their dark lair. He knows she’s lonely. Her time spent almost exclusively with him in dirty basements and chilly conference rooms. He catches her sometimes, glancing wistfully at a couple as they walk down the street, or a mother fussing over her child. And every time he sees that look on her face, the traces of yearning and sadness that would be unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know her so well, it sends a jolt of sadness through his own heart, because it’s his fault she doesn’t have all of that.

He knows she doesn’t see it that way, knows she attributes her happiness to their team and their work, knows she would put their cause before anything, before herself. But he can’t help but imagine sometimes, when she looks particular tired and worn down, what her life might have ended up like if he’d never walked into her little office that first day. Because she deserves so much more than what she has now, here with them, with him. She deserves more than he’ll ever be able to give her, and it kills him. Not just because he wishes he could give her all of it, everything she ever wanted, but because he knows she doesn’t care about that. She doesn’t care if life shortchanges her, if her needs get pushed aside in favor of the city’s. She doesn’t care. Because she believes in him, and what he does far too much.

Which is why seeing her so completely happy, even for just one fleeting moment, has stuck with him the way it has.

And now here he is. Either motivated by a selfish need to see another flash of pure joy on her sweet face, or a simple desire to check on her, make sure she’s okay, alone in a strange apartment with a baby.

It takes a few more moments of deliberation before he finally walks into the building and jogs up the two flights of stairs to the right floor. He hesitates outside, wondering if he’s making a mistake, he’s not sure he’ll be able to come up with a good excuse for being there, considering he’s not entirely sure of the reason himself. But he’s come this far, and at the end of the day, he really just wants to see Felicity. It’s been a rough week and they’ve all felt it, and if there’s one thing that can make any of it even a little better, it’s her.

He knocks lightly, and smiles involuntarily when her voice calls out for him to hang on a second. He does, fingers rubbing together as he waits for her to open the door. And then all of a sudden she’s there, and all the reasons don’t matter anymore, because she’s wearing pink and she has a smiling baby on her hip, little fists tugging gently on her hair, and it’s the best thing he’s seen in a long time.

She looks happy again, and he decides to blame the undeniable tug in his heart, on _that_ as opposed to how good she looks with the child.

“Oliver!” She looks surprised to see him, but steps aside to let him in without question.

“Sorry, I just…wanted to check on you. See if you needed help.” He says, his voice a little rough as he accepts her silent invitation, walking slowly into the familiar apartment.

She gives him a slightly suspicious look, but seems to decide against questioning him further, smiling as she walks into the kitchen, their godson still perched comfortably in her arms.

“Well you’re just in time for dinner, if you want some? We’re having lasagna.”

He follows her, letting the rest of the world slip away as the warmth of _this_ , her smiles and the child’s laughter and the smell of good food, soothes over his ragged nerves like a balm.

He’s not sure when he became so reliant on her to feel any semblance of contentment. Probably somewhere between her babbling about platonic circumstances and patching his wounds without question like she’d been doing it for years. Which she has, at this point. But all he knows now, is that he can’t remember the last time he felt at peace without her in the room.

They spend the next hour sitting around the kitchen table, eating pasta and taking turns to feed the _Digglet_ , as Felicity’s taken to calling him. They chat about easy things, Felicity’s voice taking up most of the silence as she rambles about anything that pops into her head. If she’s curious about why he’s really there, she doesn’t comment on it, seeming to understand that he’s more than happy to just listen to her talk.

He watches from the doorway, a little while later, as she puts the child to bed, takes in the soft look on her face as she tucks him into his crib, her hair tumbling over her shoulder when she leans down to press a kiss to his tiny forehead. This time the twinge in his chest is too clear to ignore, and he finds his mind traveling down a dangerous road before he can rein himself in.

To that idea that he tries not to indulge too often, where he _can_ give Felicity everything she deserves, where for some extraordinary, amazing reason, she chooses him to build a life with. A _family_ with.

A child with her smile and his eyes, and every evening spent like this, with home-cooked food and Felicity’s babbling. 

It takes him off guard, how much he wants it. How much he yearns for this to be _his_ , this life, a fantasy he knows he’ll never deserve.

It’s something he never wanted before. Before the island… before _Felicity_. A baby was never in his plan, never even a speck on his radar, but then again, neither was she. And now she’s just about the most precious thing in his life, and a baby is something he thinks about with longing and hope.

She turns to look at him, pressing a finger to her lips before creeping out of the nursery, her face contorting into a cute grimace as she dramatizes tiptoeing from the room. He chuckles softly and her eyes meet his, a flash of surprise flitting across her face to be quickly replaced by warmth.

They settle onto the couch in the living room, and Felicity hands him the remote and lets him choose what they watch. He’s half surprised she hasn’t kicked him out yet, if he’s being honest, but she seems completely unfazed by his presence. Another thing he never really had before her, being so easily accepted into a world that doesn’t involve money, sex or pain. Just companionship and a sense of normality. Simplicity and warmth.

He’s not sure what they end up watching, because at some point Felicity rested her head against his shoulder, and his arm automatically curled around her back, and now he can feel the steady rhythm of her heart against his own, and he’s finding it hard to focus on much else.

“It’s nice to see you like this.” She murmurs a bit later, tired eyes still fixed on the screen in front of them.

“Like what?”

“Relaxed, peaceful. I like this Oliver. You should let him out more.”

He looks down at her, the upside down view of her face making her look impossibly young and innocent. He rests his chin on her head, the floral scent of her shampoo filling his senses as his gaze flicks back to the movie.

“Maybe I will.” He finally whispers, the words almost getting lost in her hair.

And maybe, one day, he’ll get everything he doesn’t deserve and he’ll spend every night like this, with Felicity in his arms and a sleeping baby in the next room.


	28. a mint chip movie night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> He notices her melancholic mood and can't help but do something to lift her spirits and bright up her day like she's done so many times for him over these past couple of years. Platonic relationship.

She’s looked sad all day, barely noticeable to someone who doesn’t know her as well as he does. But he notices everything about her, every mood, every expression. And today, she’s sad.

Which is why he finds himself standing on her porch at ten o’clock at night with a tub of mint chip ice cream and an expensive bottle of red.

She opens the door in her pajamas with red rimmed eyes and shaky fingers. He takes in her ragged appearance, but hides his concern, holding the mint chip up like a peace offering.

“I thought you might want some company. You don’t have to talk about it, but whenever Thea was sad, nothing could cheer her up like ice cream and a good movie, so…”

She smiles, a little watery and emotional, but a smile all the same. And then she’s stepping aside and ushering him into the warmth of her home.

They spend the evening watching chick flicks, drinking wine, and eating the entire tub of Ben & Jerry’s. She falls asleep on his shoulder halfway through the third movie and he shifts and gently lowers her until her head is pillowed on his lap.

He doesn’t know why she’s sad. But what he does know, is that he wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else in the world, than right there with her.

His fingers sift through her hair and before too long his own eyes fall closed.

He wakes to sunlight filtering through the curtains and a smiling Felicity who presses a kiss to his cheek and whispers a thank you against his skin.


	29. of wedding nights and metor showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: olicity + stargazing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so cheesy it's embarrassing. I'm sorry?

They get married on a Tuesday.

It’s quiet and rushed and far from perfect. Felicity wears a blue dress and Oliver wears a gray suit. It’s not how either of them imagined it happening, but sometimes life changes its course, dragging everything else along with it. And sometimes that ends up working out for the best. It’s a city hall deal, no ceremony, no reception, neither of their mothers are there and they both feel the loss.

There are many reasons they’re doing it like this. Some harder to think about than others, like a scary, dangerous mission just around the corner and the possibility that Oliver might not come home. But some are happy, some make her heart sing and her eyes shine, like the fact that she really, _really_ loves him, and he really, _really_ loves her.

He’d woken her up with a kiss that morning, rough stubble dragging against the tender skin of her jaw, as he whispered into her ear that he wanted to marry her _now,_ not in three months, not in a year but _right now_.

There’s a moment in the middle, when the imperfection fades away and as they exchange their vows, the rest of the world sinks back into the shadows because all that matters is them. Tears slip unbidden from Felicity’s eyes as Oliver murmurs words like _happiness_ and _everything_. He jumps the gun and kisses her before she can finish her own promises, pressing his lips to hers, both of them tasting the salt of her tears. Happy tears. She says words like _hero_ and _mine._

But it’s their wedding night that ends up being perfect. Not _perfect_ , perfect, because few things ever are. But it’s as close as real life ever gets. In her opinion anyway.

It’s August and the evening is warm even when the sun has set. Oliver turns the car in the opposite direction to home and just smiles at her curious look. They drive out into the desert, joined hands resting on her bare leg. She rolls her window down and the evening breeze washes over them, accompanied by the quiet hum of the car on the empty road. She leans across the console and presses a kiss to Oliver’s shoulder, for no reason other than the fact that they’re wearing matching gold rings that say she can do that whenever she wants, for as long as she wants. Which will be forever.

She doesn’t let herself think about the odds of her getting that forever with him. It’s not the time for that.

Oliver stops the car in a pull-in on a quiet stretch of road, crossing to her side and helping her out.

“What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see.”

He pulls a blanket out from the trunk, before climbing onto the hood and laying it across the roof of the car. She raises her eyebrows and he laughs at her expression, holding out a hand to help her up.

“Trust me.” Is all he says, and she does. Implicitly, always.

So she places her hand in his, and his fingers entwine with her smaller ones, sure and strong, pulling her up beside him until they’re both sitting on the roof, still warm from the sun.

He lies back, and she does the same, shoulder to shoulder, hands still tangled together.

She opens her mouth to question him again, but he shushes her and nods towards the sky, a smile pulling at his lips. She looks up just in time to see a brilliant streak of light shoot through the darkness above them.

“Whoa.” And then there’s another. And another. And another. “It’s a meteor shower!”

His gaze shifts from the marvel above them, to her, and his thumb brushes back and forth across her knuckles.

 “Make a wish.”

She turns to meet his eyes, and she’s overwhelmed by how much she loves him. So she leans across and kisses him, with the stars still falling around them, and nothing but the crickets and their own breathing to break the silence.

“I’ve already got everything I want.” She whispers the words against his lips, and when his mouth presses back against hers, she can almost taste his emotion. She knows it still surprises him, every time she expresses how happy she is with him.

 But he’s stopped fighting her on it, and they’re together and that’s all that matters. Because neither of them could ask for anything more.

Their first time as a married couple is in the back of a car, but the sky is glittering above them, and radio’s playing a melancholy love song, and it’s one of those nights that they’ll remember for the rest of their lives. Where everything comes together and it’s perfect in its imperfection.

Just like them, really.

Perfectly imperfect.

And in that moment, perfectly, exquisitely, happy.


	30. little arrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:  
> felicity and oliver sharing an apartment, kids turning up dressed up as the arrow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (late) Halloween!

They’re keeping it quiet this year. A night off to spend curled up on the couch, watching cheesy Halloween flicks and eating candy. There’s a big party going on at Verdant but neither of them really felt up for it, any time they have to spare, they prefer to spend alone together these days.

Felicity’s lying with her head in Oliver’s lap, feet tucked beneath the cushions, surrounded by discarded chocolate wrappers.

She hops up every now and then to answer the door to greet the trick or treaters, sweets in hand, ready to coo over each costume, ruffle hair and even kiss a couple of tiny little prince charmings on the cheek. (They leave blushing, barely noticing how much candy they got.)

Oliver keeps a protective eye on her every time she opens the door, ready to leap into action at the first sign of danger. She doesn’t even roll her eyes at him anymore, it’s just who he is, and she loves him. Over-protectiveness and all. So she fastens the chain behind her every time and returns to her spot beside him, curling into his warmth without a word.

The first time she came face to face with a mini Green Arrow she let out a surprised squeal of delight. (Which was really unfortunate timing because Oliver was in the kitchen getting more wine when he heard her ‘yell’. He crashed into the room to see what was wrong, and promptly scared the kids off.)

Since then she’s been counting how many little Olivers she sees. (She’s up to five, so it seems to be a trend.)

He says he doesn’t get it, but she can see the warmth in his eyes whenever another one shows up.

He still denies being a hero, even after so many years of doing good. Seeing evidence of how much he means to others always confuses him, like he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.

Felicity knows better though, so she keeps counting the little Arrows and kisses the disbelief off his face every time.

By the end of the night the tally is up to eight, and Oliver’s got a smile on his face.

(Maybe next year she’ll surprise him with a Green Arrow costume of her own.)


	31. halloween blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emilyhotchnerforever said:  
> Olicity prompt-- felicity doesn't like Halloween and Oliver intends to find out why

He finds her in the basement, shoes discarded and feet tucked beneath her,  watching something on one of the monitors. She’s dressed as a character from a movie, she told him who earlier but the name didn’t mean anything to him. (And he was a little distracted by how beautiful she looked.)

"You okay?"

She turns at the sound of his voice, lips curling into a smile.

"I’m good. How’s the party?" She turns back to the screen and he takes in the stiff way she’s holding herself, the tension in her shoulders, and the teeth biting into her lip.

"No fun without you."

She rolls her eyes but laughs, turning back to face him. “Really? You’re going with that?”

He shrugs and pulls a chair up beside her. “It’s true.” He brushes a lock of hair out of her face, carefully tucking the curl behind her ear, before tilting her chin up until her eyes meet his. “Tell me what’s wrong, Felicity.”

She’s been distant all day. Not openly upset or angry, just quiet and a jumpy.

"If you won’t tell me what’s wrong, how am I supposed to fix it?" His thumb brushes back and forth across her cheekbone and she sighs, eyes soft and warm as she looks up at him.

"You don’t always have to fix everything for me, Oliver." He opens his mouth to contradict her but she shakes her head and cuts him off before he can. "It’s not even a big deal. Halloween just makes me nervous. There’s nothing for you to fix." 

His hand finds hers and he pulls her out of her chair and onto his lap. She comes willingly, fitting herself comfortably against him and pressing a kiss to his prickly jaw.

"Thank you for caring, but it’s really nothing. You don’t have to stay down here with me."

He rolls his eyes because when will she learn that there is literally nowhere he’d rather be, than wherever she is.

"You don’t have to tell me. But I’m not going anywhere." They’ve learnt not to push each other with things like this. Over the years the stories have come out one by one, each scar being revealed at its own pace. His and hers.

She’s quiet for a minute before she speaks, her voice soft and a little shy.

"It’s something about the masks, how it could be anybody beneath there, and there’s no way to know who it might be… When I was a kid, some boys in my neighborhood used to wear Clinton masks and vandalize cars on our street. I guess I’ve felt weird about it since then. I don’t know."

He presses his lips to her forehead, fingers sifting through her hair.

"What about my mask? Does that scare you?"

"No, because I know who’s beneath it." She grins up at him. "Babe, you could wear one of those creepy horror doll masks and you wouldn’t scare me."

He rolls his eyes because he’s the vigilante and he’s very scary thank you very much. But his chest feels warm because she’s not afraid of him _despite_ that. Her unwavering confidence and trust in him never ceases to amaze and humble him.

"I’m glad. Now let’s go home." He stands up, holding her waist until she’s steady on her feet.

"What about the party?" She sounds anxious, but he just kisses her, tasting chocolate on her tongue.

"We’ll have our own party."

(It sounds a lot dirtier than he intended. He was actually thinking of making Halloween themed cupcakes.)


	32. of heart eyes and date nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> effie214 said:  
> Prompts you asked for, and prompts you shall have! (muahahaha). Take your pick. 1. Mistletoe. 2. "This isn't what it looks like." 3. "That shirt looks good on you; it'd look even better on my floor." 4. 'twas the night before Christmas when all through the lair... 5. Oliver watching Felicity get ready for their weekly date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have no plot whatsoever, just a lot of Oliver being a giant heart-eyed sap. I blame Stephen Amell.

He likes to watch her get ready. Well he likes to watch her do anything really,  her focus, her attention to detail, the little crease that forms on her brow when she concentrates. He could watch her for hours, doing the most banal of tasks. She’s an endless source of fascination to him. An enigma he never wants to stop solving.

She teases him about it sometimes, the way his eyes will always find her in a crowded room, and then rarely to look away.  But she never tells him to stop. She’ll look up and catch his gaze, that secret smile they share crossing both their lips before her eyes will drop, a flush of color rising across her cheeks.

He likes to watch her. And she likes to let him.

They decided long ago that if they were ever going to make this work, their strange, conflicting lives, they needed rules. (Felicity refers their guidelines as ‘vigilante dating 101’) And one of those rules, one that’s stood them in good stead as the months have turned to years, is that however bad a week might be, however hard their lives might get, every Thursday night is date night.

Sometimes she’ll put on a pretty dress and he’ll wear a tie and they’ll go have dinner at a fancy restaurant with expensive wine. Sometimes they’ll order pizza and spend the night on the couch, watching a movie and drinking hot chocolate. But they always spend that night together. They always eat a proper meal and take those few hours to stop, shed the stress of the rest of the world and just be two people in love, eating dinner and sharing embarrassing childhood stories. 

Sometimes the going gets rough, and the day will end in tears, because things are harder than they should be, and enemies never seem to stay dead. But even on those weeks, they’ll take that time out, take refuge in each other, take those few hours of good company and good food, to recharge their batteries for the week to come.

But tonight’s a good night. There’s a smile on Felicity’s face as she wanders around their house and that in itself is enough to bring a matching one to Oliver’s face.

He lounges back on their bed, half dressed in his suit pants, a semi buttoned shirt, and the suspenders Felicity insists he wear whenever possible. His eyes follow her movement around their room (it still warms his heart whenever he thinks about things being _theirs._ Their bedroom, their home, their lives.)

She always follows the same routine when she gets ready. She’ll shower, put on underwear, go to the closet and pick out an outfit, lay it out carefully on the bed, do her makeup in the bathroom mirror, all the while softly singing whichever song happens to be stuck on her brain that day. Tonight it’s a lilting melody that he doesn’t recognize, and he listens to the words with interest, letting the warmth of her sweet voice, and the smell of her jasmine perfume lull him into a sense of contentment he used to merely dream of.

She’s dabbing concealer under her eyes and he feels a stab of guilt, because he knows that too many late nights at the foundry are the cause of her tiredness. But she’s as insistent as she ever was about it all being her choice. She’s as driven in this cause as he is. And that’s just one of the reasons he loves her. Just one of the reasons they work so well.

She switches to mascara, and he feels a familiar swell of desire when she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, frowning in concentration as she drags the wand carefully through her lashes. He never grows tired of her, never doesn’t want her as much as he did the first time. It’s a completely new experience for him, to want the person he’s with and no one else. To be too enraptured by her for his eyes to wander. It’s so easy with Felicity, and he knows that some of that’s due to his own growth, to the man he’s become, in comparison to the boy he was, but most of it’s her. It’s easy because it’s right. He’ll never look for anything else, because he’s found everything he needs.

She glances over at him and smiles, as though she knows what he’s thinking. The corners of his mouth turn up in response, eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in her slightly Cyclops look, with one eye done, and one not.

She shakes her head and turns back to the mirror, quickly finishing the other eye, and turning to search through her countless lipsticks.

“Did you like the black dress or the pink dress better?” She asks, and he turns to look at the two options laid out beside him on the bed.

He thinks she looks beautiful in anything. Even grumpy and tired at 6am before she’s had her coffee. But he always loves seeing her in bright colors, a reminder that she herself is the all too needed splash of color in his life. That before her, the colors were limited to black and white and far too many shades of gray. So he reaches for the pink one, letting the soft material slip through his fingers, already looking forward to the moment he’ll get to take it off her later in the night.

“This one.” He says finally and she smiles, walking over to take it out of his hands. She leans down and presses her lips to his as she does, her golden curls falling around him and tickling his neck.

“Good choice.”

 She steps back and slips into the dress, and his fingers itch to reach out and touch her, to pull her back onto their bed with him, and forget all about clothes and dinner and other people. He resists the urge, and instead stands to help her with her zipper, one hand finding her waist as the other closes her dress, fingers trailing along the exposed skin at her shoulders.

She sighs, a soft, contented sigh that matches his mood and for the millionth time he finds himself wondering how it’s possible to love anything as much as he loves her. He loves her so much it physically hurts. But it also heals, it protects, it grows with every day that passes. And it’s something that he’ll never stop thanking the universe for. She saved him in every way a person can be saved, and for some unfathomable reason, she stayed after the fact. Stayed to save him day in and day out, just by being there, with him.

He presses a kiss to the nape of her neck and her hand finds his. His thumb traces the cool metal of the rings on her finger, reminding him every day that she’s his and he’s hers, and neither of them are going anywhere. Not anymore.

At least, not without the other.


	33. excerpt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to clear out my WIP folder (and my brain) so here's an excerpt from a fic I'll (probably) never finish.

Felicity's woken from an already disturbed dream by a hand clamping over her mouth. Her eyes fly open, panic filling her chest for the brief second before she feels a stubbled cheek against her own and recognizes the smell of Oliver's aftershave.

His voice is rough and low, and despite the situation and her knowledge that he wouldn't wake her up like that if he didn't have a very good reason, it makes her stomach swoop.

"Be very quiet. Don't speak. When I let go I want you to get up and put your coat and shoes on as quickly as you can. Do you understand?"

She nods against his hand, eyes wide, the thundering of her own heart loud in her ears.

He quickly steps back, releasing her from his hold and moving across the room to grab her coat from the peg by the door.

She can barely see in the murky darkness but she gets the feeling turning on the lights would be a bad move. Trying to control the shaking of her hands, she feels around for her shoes, silently thanking every deity she knows that she thought to pack a pair of flats along with her heels. She finds the little lace ups, and quickly pulls them on, fumbling with the laces before Oliver bats her hands away and kneels before her. He's done in two seconds, and then he's standing and pulling her coat over her shoulders.

She wants to ask him what's going on, but she keeps her mouth shut, trusting his judgment. Instead she grabs her purse and shoves her scarf and hat inside, reaching for her phone and tablet only to have Oliver stop her.

"Leave them."

She opens her mouth to object because trusting him is one thing, but she is not leaving her tablet _and_ her phone behind before running off into the night.

"Felicity."

It's the desperation in his voice that stops her. He sounds almost scared, and that scares her enough not to argue. When his hand finds hers and he tugs her towards the door she doesn't object, falling into step beside him, trying to steady her breathing.

She can't hear any noise or movement in the hotel, but knows her senses aren't as sharp as his.

He unlocks the door and she finds herself holding her breath as he pushes it open. But nothing happens, nothing jumps out at them, and a second later he's tugging her behind him into the dimly lit hallway. He walks slowly, cautiously, she can feel how tense he is, how on edge. Every single muscle coiled, ready to fight, every single sense working at full capacity.

He always amazes her when he's like this. The focus he has, the control. It's strangely beautiful.

They make it halfway to the elevators before they're attacked. She's not really sure how it happens, doesn't even see where they appear from, but suddenly there are two men with guns in front of them and Oliver's pushing her against the wall. She holds her breath and digs her nails into the palms of her hands.

But it doesn't take him long to incapacitate them, they barely even make a sound before they're out cold on the floor. Oliver strips them of their guns, tucking one into his belt and holding the other out in front of them as they start walking again.

She feels sick when she sees the silencers attached to the already austere weapons, and tries to bite back her rising panic. She hates not knowing what's happening, who's after them, what they're running from, where they're going, what the plan is. That's usually the stuff she's sure of.

Now she has to operate on blind faith.

But with the feeling of her hand held tightly in Oliver's larger one, she _is_ sure of one thing. If there's one person she would trust to catch her in the dark, it would be him.


	34. excerpt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An excerpt from a fic I'll (definitely) never write.

He never wanted to hurt her. If there’s one thing in his whole life he wishes he could undo, it would be this. He’d put aside all his own pain in favor of undoing hers. He’d relive the island time and again, if he could just spare her _this_. 

She’s standing before him, the few feet between them stretching on like an ocean. She’s wearing that dress he always liked on her, a soft blue one that flutters just above her knees. He doesn’t like it anymore though. Because every happy memory he has of her in that dress, will forever be wiped away by this one. Her hair’s down, curling over her shoulders, shining in the light. Her arms are wrapped around her middle, like she’s trying to protect herself. The fact that it’s _him_ she’s protecting herself from is worse than bullet wound. 

She looks so small and fragile, and everything in him aches to pull her to him, comfort her, _fix_ her. But he can’t. Because he’s the one who caused this. He’s the one who broke her.

Her eyes are fixed on the floor, tear stained cheeks turned down. She hasn’t met his eyes in what feels like an age, and that distance between them just keeps growing. He does nothing to stop it.

He thinks of the first night, nearly a year ago now. The way her eyes shone, the flush to her cheeks as she gazed up at him, the giddy smile on her lips that mirrored his own. He’d kissed her like his life depended on it, sometimes he thinks maybe it did. They hadn’t fallen asleep until the early hours of the morning, their need for each other never ending. To say it was the best night of his life seems to sell it short. It was so much more than that. 

It was the best _year_ of his life. Of that he’s sure.

Being loved by her, _loving_ her, was the greatest thing to ever happen to him. And now it’s over. A near full circle and they’re here, two fractured people, two broken hearts.

He had a whole future planned with her. The only girl he’d ever thought to plan a life with, the only one he’d ever _wanted_ a life with. He knew that it was unlikely to happen, that he might not make it that far. But he’d imagined it sometimes, late at night, with her curled into his side, he’d pictured it all. Picking out a ring for her, a proposal and a wedding, quiet with just their closest friends, and Felicity would be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And then a few years down the line they could start a family and he’d be the guy in the supermarket at four in the morning because his pregnant wife had a sudden craving for soy sauce and he’d do absolutely _anything_ for her. He’d be the guy who’d tear up when their baby kicked for the first time, pressing sloppy kisses all over Felicity’s face, feeling so much love for them both, he was almost overwhelmed by it. He’d seen it all, a spark of hope, a possibility for his life to be something more than he’d ever believed he’d deserve.

And now it’s all gone.

He knows why. He knows it had to be done. He had no other choice. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself. Because nothing’s ever hurt quite as much as this. As the betrayal in her eyes, the way she flinches away when he takes an involuntary step towards her. 

It’s not just a breakup. It’s not just a goodbye. He hasn’t just lost the most important person in his world, the love of his life. He’s lost a whole future. 


	35. early hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm complete and utter trash. like what happened???? and yes this was inspired by a gifset dedicated to amell's scruff. and it was written in five minutes flat. so there's that. i'm sorry i guess??

Felicity loves lots of things about Oliver. She loves his bravery, his strength, his kindness.She loves how much he loves her. She loves his scars, and his muscles, she loves his arms, especially when they’re wrapped around her.  She loves his shoulders, and the weight they can bear, both physical and emotional. She loves his smile, and his lips in general. She loves his eyes and the depths she can find within them, she loves his hands and the way they feel against her skin. She loves that huff of laughter that seems to surprise him every time he does it. She loves his heart and his mind, and if she believed in such things, she’d say she loved his soul.

But right now, she’s not thinking about any of that. Because right now, with the sun filtering through the half drawn curtains of her bedroom window, all she can think about is the feel of his stubble scratching against her skin.

Sometimes when she wakes up like this, warm and protected, with a man in her bed who she loves more than she knows what to do with, a man who loves her back just as much, she wonders if she’s dreaming.  Not because she can’t believe he’s there, she can, she believes in his love for her more than she believes in anything else really. But because she can’t she can’t quite believe that after everything they’ve been through, separately and together, all the pain and all the loss, all the miles traveled, all the people met, they somehow managed to find each other. Heal each other. Love each other. It seems so inexplicable, how easily they could have missed out on this, passed each other by likes ships in the night and never known what could have been.

He brushes his lips against her neck and she shivers at the sensation, letting her head fall to the side to give him more room. He takes advantage of the opportunity, lazily leaving soft kisses down the column of her throat, along the ridge of her collarbone. He rolls closer, until he’s above her, legs tangled together, half of his weight supported on his forearm while half presses her down into the sheets. He never rests his whole weight against her, even when she tells him she welcomes the feel of him surrounding her, pressed against every inch of her body. 

He still carries that fear of hurting her, a fear she originally thought was limited to emotional pain, or being the reason others brought her harm, but which she quickly learnt ran deeper. He worries about waking up from a nightmare and lashing out at her, he worries about forgetting his own strength and leaving bruises on her skin. And there was that one awful night when he woke up screaming, voice hoarse from tears and horror, convinced he’d killed her, convinced she was lying dead beside him in bed. He hadn’t touched her for nearly a week after that, and to this day he claims it’s the worst nightmare he’s ever suffered through.

But today there’s no fear or anger or sorrow resting between them. Today it’s just the feel of his beard against her skin, and the warmth of the early morning sun on her closed eyes. Today it’s just calloused fingers entwined with her smaller ones, the size difference still making her stomach swoop, however many times she’s seen it, _felt it_. Today it’s whispered words into tangled hair, and soft laughter that makes her heart skip a beat. Today it’s whisker burn on her chest and thighs that she knows she’ll feel for the rest of the day. Reminding her of this moment, this feeling, every time her skirt brushes against her sensitive skin.

She loves a lot of things about Oliver. And today, she really, really loves the fact that he keeps forgetting to shave.


	36. road trippin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post 3x23 roadtrip drabble

The California air is cool and dry in the spring, warming up from a mild winter, but not yet infused with the unforgiving heat of the summer months. The PCH stretches ahead of them, curving around the jagged coastline.

Felicity’s heart feels light and free, her fingers spread wide as her arm hangs out of the window, feeling the wind rush past. Oliver’s eyes are on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other lying carelessly on his thigh, ready to change gear when needed. They turned the radio on at some point, and the Kings of Leon have Felicity softly humming along.

They have no destination in mind, no one waiting for them, no responsibilities lying ahead. They have nothing but a couple of duffel bags, each other, and the open road. 

Oliver’s smile still hasn’t faded from his face, his lips turned up at the corners in an entirely uncharacteristic way. His eyes are soft whenever he glances across to the passenger side, catching Felicity’s gaze and sharing a look that’s loaded with warmth and affection.

The silence is broken only by the music, but the lack of conversation is comfortable. Both of them taking a little time to let it sink in. They’re really doing this. Together.

They drive until the sun sinks beneath the hills, and the sky fades from pink to black. Felicity considers pulling out her tablet and looking for somewhere to stay, but in the end she leaves it safely tucked away in her purse and leans back against her seat, watching out of the window as lights pass by. It doesn’t matter where they stop, she’d feel safe in Bates Motel with Oliver by her side.

They end up stopping at a Holiday Inn, and it’s so unlike both of them, that they share a laugh as they walk inside. Happy to stop letting the past define their future. Happy to take on each new thing as it comes.

The rooms are nice and clean, better than a motel, but nothing compared to the hotels Oliver grew up frequenting. But neither mind. There’s a café selling toasted sandwiches, so they stock up on more food than they probably need, carrying it up to their room, amusement filling the air as Oliver watches Felicity juggle two takeout cups and the room key while he holds the bags.

It takes them both slightly by surprise, how easy this is. Being together. Being alone. They’ve barely started, and yet it feels like they’ve been doing this for years already. The ease with which they fall into a comfortable companionship is startling and natural all at once.

He drops a kiss to her lips before disappearing into the bathroom, and she unpacks both their bags, hanging up anything that needs to be hung in the tiny little closet. Their shoes lie discarded side by side in front of the door, his wallet is tucked into her purse along with the car keys and the smell  of her perfume lingers on his jacket.

They end up sitting side by side on the double bed, shoulders brushing as they share an odd meal of paninis and hot chocolate in the flickering light of an old John Wayne movie playing on the tiny TV.

Felicity learns that he’s always been a fan of the Duke and laughs happily as he regales her with a story of him and Tommy racing around the mansion pretending to be cowboys in the Wild West. His eyes are wistful as he remembers his fallen friend, but his tone is lighthearted, and he seems pleased to share the memories with her.

It occurs to her then how much they still have to learn about each other. And instead of being scary, the thought fills her with anticipation. They have so much ahead of them, so much left to experience together. And the possibility of all that time with Oliver, the man she _loves_ , makes her heart swell and beat an unsteady rhythm in her chest.

When the credits start to roll, she wraps a hand around the back of his neck, and pulls his head down until his lips meet hers, and the soft sigh of satisfaction that falls from his mouth is enough to make her stomach clench in desire. They’re already so good at this. Their tongues meeting in a dance that neither will tire of anytime soon.

And this time, as clothes are shed and kisses shared, there’s no impending separation hanging over them, no sorrow or desperation in the way they touch. They can take their time, let it be about more than an expression of love before an inevitable goodbye. Oliver kisses down her body, whiskers scratching delightfully against her skin and as he settles his mouth against the wetness at her center, she finds herself wondering, between embarrassingly loud moans, if there’s anything he _isn’t_ good at.

Later, when they’re tangled up in the sheets, sweaty and sated, her head resting comfortably on his chest, they’re reminded again why this works.

“Thank you for coming with me.” He murmurs, a hand combing gently through her hair, curling errant strands around his fingers.

“I came twice actually, so I think I’m the one who should be saying thank you.” Felicity says lightly, smirking against his skin when she feels his chest shake as he laughs.

She blushes, but giggles along with him, and that’s how the day ends. With them sharing a bed in a cheap roadside hotel, surrounded by laughter and each other. 


	37. poloroids and missing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: Military AU. Yes? No?

The letter arrives on a Tuesday, and as always, when she sees those airmail stripes, her heart skips a few beats.

It’s still early and she’s wearing nothing but Oliver’s shirt, one he wore before he left and didn’t have time to wash. It smells like him, and it’s probably pathetic how much that comforts her.

A worn copy of The Great Gatsby is tucked under her arm, a mug of coffee in the other hand, a fluffy pair of socks slipping down her calves. The winter chill is just settling in and she took the day off work, planning to cuddle up under a mountain of blankets, read, and try not to miss Oliver too much.

He’s only been gone a week, and she’s already counting the days until he comes home. Their apartment is empty and cold without him, their bed much the same. 

The letter sits unobtrusively on her doormat and she snatches it up with shaky fingers, quickly setting her coffee aside and carefully opening the envelope.

A Polaroid slips out, and tears spring to her eyes as she stares down at it. She doesn’t remember the photo being taken, but easily remembers the moment it was captured.

She’d spent the day doing her best to hold it together, smiling at him like her heart wasn’t breaking, like she wasn’t so scared she thought she might die. They’ve been through it before, and that was the only thing that got her through. He always comes home to her. Every single time he gets on that plane, he steps back off it a few months later, scooping her up into his arms with a whoop of joy.

But this time, when the moment came to say goodbye, she had to dig her nails into her palms to stop herself from screaming. She remembers his arms wrapping around her, his lips pressing gentle kisses to that spot just under her jaw that always makes her shiver. 

He whispered words of love, and promises he shouldn’t make.

She was wearing flats for once, and stepped onto his hard-toed boots to press her lips to his.

They used to do that when they were kids. Their height difference was always pronounced, even when they were little. So she’d stand on his toes to dance or cuddle for warmth. It became one of their things.

There’s a messy scrawl along the bottom of the picture and she smiles when she recognizes Digg’s writing. She flips it over and reads the words over and over again, picturing the older man writing them, taking the time out of his undoubtedly busy day to write her a message and send her a photo he knew she’d cherish. 

And she does. Tears are already stinging her eyes, a lump settling heavy in her throat.

Pressing the priceless bit of paper against her heart, she closes her eyes and imagines, just for a moment, that he’s there with her. He’d cup her face in his strong hands, brush his thumbs under her eyes until her cheeks were dry. He’d say her name in that way he does where she’s sure he could fit an entire love letter into four syllables. He’d wrap her in his arms and the air wouldn’t feel cold anymore, the day wouldn’t feel endless.

But he’s not with her. And he won’t be for another seventy-four days. So she stands, the precious Polaroid held tight in her hand, and turns to the jars that sit in a place of pride on the kitchen table. She carefully takes a marble out of the one labeled _days left,_ and drops it into the one beside it, marked _days passed.  
_

And for the next seventy-four days she’ll do the same thing. Moving marbles and counting days until she’s back at that airport, and she can stand on his boots and kiss him like her life depends on it.


End file.
